


Field of Battle, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, Characters - Friendship, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Plot - Can't stop reading, Post-War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2003-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 95,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3737750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed a bold plan, an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war.Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose. </p><p>STORY (6)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Lebethron

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

****

Authors Note:

  
__

Thanks to Sheyla who has begun betaing for me as well as condolences because the mini-balrogs know me well.

  
****

 

  


THE FIELD OF BATTLE

  


 

  


Prologue:

  


The Harvest of Lebethron

  
__

 

  


What has gone on before:

  


The proposed alliance between the Reunified Kingdom and the Easterling Confederacy has come to an end during the treaty celebrations in Minas Tirith, following the discovery that the king of the Haradrim, Ulfrain, had entered a dark alliance with the skin changers from the First Age. Ulfrain and his allies had attempted to assassinate the Ruling Council of Middle earth, comprising of Aragorn of Gondor, Eomer of Rohan, Imrahil of Dol Amroth, Faramir of Ithilien, Legolas Greenleaf of the elven colony Eden Ardhon in South Ithilien and Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves and ruler of Aglarond. During the subsequent battle, the commander of his armies, Castigliari who like the rest of the Easterling Confederacy knew nothing of this pact, was forced to kill Ulfrain. Unfortunately upon his return home, the general is executed for the murder of his king. 

  


Forces in the Easterling nations, weary of the diplomatic solutions to solve their crisis of impending famine, chose a military alternative and issues a declaration of war against the Reunified Kingdom and all its allies. Hostilities have yet to begin, but it is only a matter of time………

  


***********

  


The air was thick with the scent of felled trees and sawdust but none of those gathered in the forest this day seemed to mind terribly. Those who had taken part in the ceremony of harvest were more than accustomed to the characteristics of the day and those who were still novices to the culmination of Lebethron’s toil would soon have time enough to learn. After all, the harvest was an annual ritual and those who were new to it on this occasion would not be in the following year. 

  


Anna and her brother Anton wished they were allowed to participate in the festivities. Unfortunately, their father had unfairly claimed that they were too young to be involved in either the felling of the trees marked ready for harvest or aiding the women in the preparation of the meal that followed the day’s work. Both were very disappointed but took heart in the fact that they were not the only ones who were allotted this curious state of limbo during the harvest. Other children were also lingering unhappily on the outskirts of all the activity being undertaken so religiously by the senior members of the Lebethron.

  


For each year since Anna was old enough to remember and far longer than her existence she was certain, the harvest had continued in this way. Lebethron was located on the banks of the Anduin and while for much of the year, the town subsisted on the spoils of the great river, on this day each year, the town turned its attention to the one activity for which Lebethron was known throughout Middle earth. Nowhere else was the tree known as Lebethron, after which the town was named, was known to exist. Careful to ensure this precious commodity was not squandered, the people of Lebethron regarded their cultivation of the wood as a sacred trust. Only a select number of trees were allowed to be felled each year and the rest of the forest was left to thrive until the following year. 

  


Once the allotted number of trees fell to the axe, Lebethron’s carpenters would either fashion the wood themselves or send the precious lumber to Gondor or Rohan, to the ministration of craftsman with artistic endeavours of their own. Of late, they had received requests from Ithilien and the elven colony of Eden Ardhon as well. The wood Lebethron was better known throughout the Reunified Kingdom and the lands of Middle earth than the town itself but its folk did not mind for it was the wood that had given life to their community to begin with.

  


Since the earliest days of this trade, the folk of Lebethron had made the harvest something of a ritual and it was a matter of pride that everyone participated in the process. Men would aid in the felling of trees, while their older counterparts would examine the forest and mark the trees that would be ready for next year’s harvest. Women would set up their cooking pots near by, furnishing meals and providing comfort to the men who would continue this exhausting work for the number of days it required to complete it.

  


For Anna, this was the seventh harvest of her life. 

  


The others were vague in her memory but her brother who was two harvests older than she, promised that it was a day of surprises looked forward to by everyone. Despite being unable to participate in the actual harvest, the children were having a wonderful time watching their fathers and mothers going about their business while being allowed to play in a part of the forest that was customarily restricted to them for the rest of the year. Being allowed to wander freely in so forbidden a place was exciting and it also made them feel included in the harvest even if they were not allowed to contribute anything to the annual ritual.

  


Anna was the smallest of the children her age. Even though she was seven, many people often mistook her for being five, a very grave insult as far as she was concerned. However, her small size did have its advantages in that if she had no desire to be found, it was virtually impossible for anyone to do so. This particularly useful when she engaged in games of hide and seek or when she was called to nap by her mother and had no taste for it. Anton often claimed, inspired by jealousy no doubt, that one day she would hide so well that everyone would forget about her. 

  


At seven, this was rather a frightening notion and Anna resolved herself to be careful to not hide herself _too well_ in case she was never found. 

  


Holding a candied apple in her hand rather gingerly, Anna found herself a comfortable place to watch her father helping with the sawing of a fallen tree into manageable lengths for loading into the wagons assembled. Her brother was off with the other boys, running through the trees, while the other children were engaged in their own games. Anna was content to shift her attention between her father working and her mother gossiping happily with the other women at the cooking hearths as she nibbled through the crusted layer of honey surrounding the apple she was holding by the stick impaled through it.

  


Everyone was working hard and enjoying the sunshine above their heads, even Anna could feel the warmth against the skin there were moments when she wanted to do nothing but stare into the brilliance of the sun above. However, mama said she must not look too closely at Laurelin’s last fruit because it would hurt her eyes but sometimes, Anna wanted to look at the beauty that Yavanna had coaxed from the golden tree of Valinor. Papa said that she was named after Yavanna and Anna often stared at the sky hoping that she might catch out the elusive lady whose name she shared.

  


Suddenly Anna felt something beneath her. It reached from beneath the soil and moved through her bones like a worm creeping across her skin, sending shudders through her body. Anna looked up in question and saw that no one else had noticed the curious sensation as of yet. This was most likely since they were all rather engaged in what they were doing and had yet to sense it. She placed her palm against the grass and felt the low rumble reach into her skin with even more intensity. Her small face contracted with concern and she wondered if she should tell papa about it.

  


She needed not have worried.

  


The strange feeling emanating from the ground became stronger and as if it were sweeping across their faces as it was through the earth, Anna saw the work coming to a gradual halt as people ceased what they were doing, forgetting all about the harvest as they looked about in concern. The sound of laughter and voices speaking had fallen into a dead silence as everyone strained to listen. Anna could tell that there was something terribly wrong. She could see it in the worried way that mama and papa were searching the woods for Anton and her. Mama had started to walk away from the other women, trying to find her. Anna did not like to see mama afraid and started to emerge from her hiding place when suddenly, the tremors became rumbling and that inspired fear in everyone.

  


"Anna!" Mama called her as everyone started to scatter. Papa had left what he was doing and hurrying towards mama. 

  


Other people were collecting their children in a hurry, stricken expressions of fear on their faces. Anna started to cry because their fear made her scared and though she hated to cry like a baby, she could think of no other way to express her anxiety. The rumbling was so loud now she could hear it everywhere. It was almost as loud as thunder but there were no clouds in the sky or any signs of impending rain. 

  


"Mama!" Anna cried through the frantic voices of folk hurrying away and felt a flood of relief when her mama turned at the sound of her voice.

  


Anna saw mama coming towards her when suddenly, exploding through the trees in deafening noise was an animal she had never seen before. It was not a horse but much bigger with a nose so long that it looked like snake and curling horns as thick as a branch from a tree. It made a noise like a horn blaring and it thundered forward with such force, that everything beneath it was crushed underfoot. Sitting on top of its back on a harness like a rider on a horse, was a man and he was not alone. As mama screamed, more and more of the strange animals appeared through the trees, moving across the land and trampling everything in sight, until the sound of them drowned out her voice. 

  


Anna scrambled back to her hiding place and watched as the beasts ran down her parents in a cloud of dust and blood. She watched them continue their rampage, driving into the dirt, the hard labour of the harvest, until logs lay strewn across the ground and the cooking pots that contained food were shattered into the dirt. Once they had done their worst where the harvest was meant to be, they continued their thunderous advance towards the village, trailing a cloud of dust and leaving behind mama and papa behind them. 

  


Anna saw her parents where they had fallen on the ground, surrounded by the tracks of the great beasts, their bodies in complete ruin. The image of their broken bones and torn skin wetting the earth with blood was burned into her mind as if it were branded there by flame. Anna closed her eyes and turned away, her body curling into a tight ball. She hugged her knees tight and wept, wishing to hear nothing else but was powerless to escape the terrible image of blood and death that was once her parents.

  


Anna did not see the destruction of the village as it fell to the onslaught of the mamakus. The beasts rampaged across Lebethron and brought down villagers as easily as it had done to her parents. At first, the menfolk were killed by the riders of the mamakus from atop their harnesses, either impaled by spears or struck by arrows. When all the structures in the village had been trampled into the dirt, the riders dismounted and began sweeping across Lebethron to deliver its destruction in a more precise hunt for prey. 

  


The men and children died quickly but the women unfortunately did not. 

  


Lebethron had no strategic value. Its lumber as precious as it was to the rest of Middle earth, held little interest to the invading army whose primary concern was grain. As the anguished shrieks of the women soared into the evening, the appearance of the full moon in the sky marked the beginning of a sinister silence that left Anna with the terrible realisation that she was now all alone. She really had been forgotten and as her young mind retreated into the dark place it would not emerge from for some time, Anna did not know whether or not she should be grateful for being allowed to live.

  


The army that swept into Lebethron with the purpose of killing every man, woman and child before the sun set that day on the harvest had a greater purpose in mind.

  


It was to tell the rulers of the western lands to beware; war was coming.

  
.  



	2. Chapter One:  The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed a bold plan, an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war.Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose.

 

  


Despite it being the customary practice for Aragorn’s manservant to lay out his clothes for the day, Arwen preferred to take charge of that responsibility herself. It was one of the few chores she considered her right as his wife to perform, despite her station as Queen of Gondor. To Arwen, the task of readying her husband for his responsibilities beyond the confines of their private chambers was something she felt the need to do because she wanted to show him how much she loved him. Just as much as he enjoyed watching in fascination as she dressed in the morning or undressed in the evening, Arwen took similar pride in laying out his clothes each morning since the beginning of their married life. 

  


 

  


She would place his garments across ornate wing chair next to her dressing table, then remove Anduril from its place across the mantle over the fireplace before selecting what boots he would need in accordance with his agenda for the day. To Arwen, it was a pleasure helping the man she loved so dearly, slip into the role of king who was as equally adored by his people as he was by his wife. Arwen knew that Aragorn enjoyed this ritual as much as she because it reminded them both that before they were King and Queen of Gondor, they were first husband and wife. 

  


 

  


Today, Arwen saw no joy in the duty she would have normally found so much pleasure in undertaking. How could she when what she was doing was laying out his travelling clothes, painfully aware that when he finally wore them, he would be embarking on a journey that would take him far away from her? She laid out his things and tried not to show the emotion that was clawing its way through the composure she had maintained for most of the morning. Her fingers trembled as she worked, her anguish at his departure for yet another battle tugging at her control with relentless determination. 

  


 

  


This was not right, she thought as the tears welled up in her eyes despite all her efforts to contain them.

  


 

  


After everything that they had endured to maintain the peace following the destruction of Sauron and the War of the Ring, they should not be faced with yet another conflict, especially one they had worked so hard to avoid. Arwen could not believe that all their efforts to create a lasting peace with the Easterlings had been destroyed so utterly by the shape shifters who had seized control of Minas Tirith through their agent Ulfrain, only weeks ago. Even though Gondor had managed to drive the usurpers out of the kingdom, it appeared that the shape shifters had won after all. A state of war now existed between the Reunified Kingdom and the confederacy of Easterling nations.

  


 

  


The outbreak of hostilities had yet to occur but Aragorn knew that it was only a matter of time. The Rangers who had not been killed whilst conducting their surveillance of the enemy territory had reported the rise of a new Haradrim leader. The Haradrim possessing much influenced among the Easterlings in the same manner that Gondor influenced the kingdoms around it, had enlisted a formidable list of allies ready to wage war upon the Reunified Kingdom. Among these were the remnants of many armies, such as the Corsairs of Umbar, the Varigs of Khand, what Wainriders that had not perished in the Dead Marshes and even a disturbing report that the Dunlendings interest might have been similarly stirred. 

  


 

  


It appeared that the Haradrim was provoking the need to restore injured pride in any race that had met defeat during the War of the Ring and their cause was fast gaining momentum among the dissatisfied Easterlings and Southerns alike. Little was known of the leader who had risen to bring about this impressive solidarity but it was said that he was the son of a chieftain who ascendancy was credited to Ulfrain’s death. Whatever his claims to power, it was evident that he was a formidable and charismatic leader capable of bringing together a formidable force comprising of different armies. 

  


 

  


For the past weeks, the Ruling Council of Middle earth, comprising the forces of Gondor, Rohan, Dol Amroth and Ithilien had been engaged in preparations for war. Eomer was fortifying Edoras and the lands of Rohan closest to the Dunlending border, to ensure that should the Dunlendings choose to throw in their lot with the enemy, Rohan would not be caught unawares. The battle at the Ford of Isen and Helms Deep was still fresh in the minds of its people and they had no wish to be trapped in such a manner again, for this time, there would be no last minute reprieve from the Huorns. 

  


 

  


Gondor had sent its troops to bolster the strength of Ithilien for it was surmised that when the hostilities began, it would most likely take place there. Legolas had pledged the aid of Eden Ardhon to aid in the war effort when it began although Aragorn had cautioned his involvement, for it was generally understood by both sides that the elves were considered a neutral party. As Eden Ardhon itself sat in a precarious position between Gondor and its enemies, Aragorn would prefer not to make the elven community a target, not that the confederacy would be foolish enough to try. An attack upon an elven colony would bring about the wrath of the elves remaining in Middle earth and not even they were foolish enough to provoke that sleeping dragon.

  


 

  


Today, Aragorn would be leaving Minas Tirith to join Faramir in Ithilien in anticipation of the attack that was all but certain to take place. Despite her profound sadness to see him leave, she knew that he was not a king that was content to remain safely behind the battlelines while his kingdom fought for its existence. The man she had fallen in love with could never be so callous and yet to let him be that man, she could not stop him from going either. It was a painful thing, this business of being queen and for the first time, she wished that both of them could be rid of this weight, no matter how selfish it sounded. 

  


 

  


Gazing out the window, she could see the soldiers moving through the ramparts that made up the rings of the Citadel. They were marching with purpose to the outer walls of the Citadel but would not to begin their journey to Ithilien until Aragorn took his place and led them out of Minas Tirith. Arwen turned away from the scene, aware that she was becoming more emotional than she should and it would not do for Estel to see her in such a state. She wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to regain some measure of elven poise as she glided away across the floor to the door of the adjoining room.

  


 

  


When she emerged into the main chamber of their suite, she saw Aragorn at the head of the dinner table, supporting Eldarion on his lap. The king was presently amusing his son by making the child’s puppy to stand on its rear legs to reach the piece of food dangling inches beyond its reach. Eldarion was giggling happily, unaware that his father would not be entertaining him in this fashion for quite some time, before Aragorn finally took pity upon the poor dog and rewarded its efforts with the morsel in his hand.

  


 

  


"I have laid out your clothes," Arwen remarked neutrally as she approached father and son. "I have also ensured that your servant has stored away everything you would need for your journey to Ithilien."

  


 

  


Aragorn raised his eyes to his wife and was able to see through her seemingly composed manner despite her best efforts to hide it from him. He knew that she ached at his departure and wished there was something he could do to soothe her worries beyond his words of assurance. Unfortunately, he could not bring himself to lie to the mother of his child that what he was embarking upon was less than what it was. They were in a state of war and inevitably in such conflicts, there was always the danger of never returning, even when one was king.

  


 

  


"Thank you Undomiel," he said gently, trying to make this easy for her even though he knew it was impossible. "I suppose I should make a start soon. The sun is climbing and I should not keep my army awaiting."

  


 

  


"Yes," Arwen nodded, trying to sound brave but feeling anything but that. "How many days do you think it will take you to arrive at Ithilien?" 

  


 

  


"Not long," he answered, rising from his chair. He placed Eldarion on the floor with the infant’s toys and left the child to his canine playmate as he went to her. "Much of our supplies and troops are already in Ithilien, those accompanying me on this occasion are more for my protection than any other reason. They forget that I know how to look after myself."

  


 

  


"They wish your safety," Arwen returned softly, "I see no harm in that."

  


 

  


"Undomiel," he lowered himself onto one knee before her and took her hand in his, "it will be alright."

  


 

  


"How can it be?" she cried out, unable to keep her emotions reined when he spoke to her in such a manner. "You should not be going! We have fought enough battles! We were so close to achieving peace, to never have to fight another war again! I hate those damn shape shifters for what they have done! Death was too good for them!"

  


 

  


"You do not mean that," Aragorn answered with gentle understanding of her anxieties. "The Easterlings are not evil Undomiel, merely wounded and afraid that their way of life is under threat. That does not excuse their actions now but if I am blinded by my hatred for them, then battle is the least I have to worry about when facing them."

  


  
  
"I know," she broke down, tears running down her cheeks as she gazed upon him with eyes glistening. "I do not wish you to go but I know that you must. It is this that I hate so much, that I must give you up for the sake of the kingdom."

  


 

  


Aragorn stood up and took his wife into his arms because she needed to feel his embrace. All the frustration she felt at this moment was feelings he could understand very well because he shared them in no small part. He did not wish to leave his wife or his son to embark upon another campaign but he was king and with that title came responsibilities. Arwen knew this as well as he, though at this moment she was having difficulty coping its demands. She would not be the woman he loved otherwise.

  


 

  


"I will be fine my love," Aragorn promised her as he caressed his cheek against the soft strands of her hair, taking a deep breath of the scent as he did so. "I promise you that I will allow no harm to befall me."

  


 

  


"I will miss you so much," Arwen said softly. "When you leave here, you take a part of me that nothing can fill."

  


 

  


"Just as I leave a part of myself here with you," he replied, meeting her gaze. "I need you to be strong Undomiel. Whatever happens out there, you need to be strong here, for Gondor and for our son."

  


 

  


Arwen nodded as Aragorn lifted her chin with his finger and lowered his lips to hers in a tender kiss. When their lips brushed against each other, it had the power to drive away the despair in her heart, even for a fleeting moment. She felt her soul sigh in happiness at his touch and ignored the realisation that when he pulled away, she would be left with an emptiness that would not be satiated until she felt this intimacy with him again.

  


 

  


"You are the bravest woman that I know," Aragorn spoke when they had parted. "You will manage without me, you always could and while this conflict may separate us, it can never break us apart. I carry you in my heart wherever I go Undomiel, you are my banner and the reason that I would fight every evil in Middle earth."

  


 

  


"I wish I could be the reason you stayed," Arwen replied, "but I am my father’s daughter and I know that sometimes responsibility must come ahead of love."

  


 

  


"Nothing comes ahead of love," he corrected her. "I fight not only to protect my kingdom and my family but to ensure that our son will not have to fight battles, that his future will be one of peace, not of bloodshed."

  


 

  


"I want his future to be one where he knows his father," Arwen countered. "Can you me promise that?" 

  


 

  


Aragon fell silent for a moment and answered, "my father made that promise to my mother and we both know that he was unable to keep it. I will not make oaths I cannot keep Undomiel, but I can promise you I will do everything in my power to return to you and our son."

  


 

  


Arwen pulled him to her again in another tight embrace and decided that would simply have to do for now.

  


 

  


**********

  


 

  


 

  


"No, Faramir!" Eowyn declared sharply over the table.

  


 

  


"Eowyn," the lord of Ithilien sucked in his breath and controlled his annoyance at his wife’s stubbornness. "Is it possible for you to obey me once?"

  


 

  


"I would do anything for you Faramir," Eowyn met her husband’s eyes and wished he would relent in this tiresome argument. For days now, she had heard the same request and each time her answer to him was the same. Her patience was wearing thin and his had almost run out, however, Eowyn was not going to submit. "However, I will not run to Minas Tirith and leave you here."

  


 

  


"An attack could come at any time," Faramir retorted. "I do not want you on the front lines if that happens."

  


 

  


Eowyn knew that her agreement was not required if he was determined to see her go. The only reason he was asking at all was because he loved her and had never presumed to lord over her as if she were his chattel instead of his wife. However, she knew that he was afraid for her life and though she loved him for his affection, Eowyn was not about to run to the safety of the White City and leave him alone during this crisis. 

  


 

  


"Faramir," she reached across the table and took her hand in his. "I remain because I cannot bear the thought of leaving you and also because it would not do to have the lady of Ithilien to depart when we are trying to convince our people that we are able to protect them."

  


 

  


Faramir cursed under his breath because she was right. While he had been preparing for battle these past weeks, he had also been attempting to promote a feeling of confidence to Ithilien’s people that they was capable of defending against any menace the enemy chose to assail them with. If Eowyn were to leave, it would be a severe blow to the morale of those who chose to remain and fight because it would appear that the Prince himself had no confidence in their ability to defend Ithilien if he was sending his lady elsewhere for safety. Faramir wished Eowyn were not such a wise tactician but underestimating Eowyn was a mistake made by most people, not just he. 

  
****

  


"I wish you were not so damned perceptive, woman," Faramir grumbled, his annoyance showing his admission of defeat. "I only wish you to leave because I cannot bear to lose you though I am certain my life would not be as vexed if you were not in it."

  


 

  


Eowyn smiled warmly, knowing his harsh words were only meant to mask his worry for her. She loved him for it but she was not about to leave him when their kingdom was in such danger. It was not in her nature to run from anything and certainly, not from her husband’s side. "You would be bored out of your mind if it were not for me," she gave him a playful wink. "Admit it, I may vex you, but your life is full of surprises."

  


 

  


Faramir rolled his eyes and muttered, "I suppose that is one way in which one might look upon it." 

  


 

  


However, his fingers had become entwined between her own and that was more telling than the words he was speaking. For all her stubbornness, Faramir adored his wife nonetheless because she filled his life with surprise and passion the likes of which he had never known. His desire for her to leave for Minas Tirith was born out of his fears of losing her but in truth, he was also proud by the fortitude she displayed in wishing to remain at his side. How could he not be hopelessly in love with such a glorious creature as this?

  


 

  


"You are not eating," he noted, as his gaze shifted briefly to her plate where the meal prepared was barely touched.

  


 

  


"I do not feel well," Eowyn answered with a little frown.

  


 

  


"Again?" Faramir’s brow arched. "That is the third time this week your appetite has been waning so. Are you certain you are alright?"

  


 

  


"I am not eating because I am worried sick about what has happened," Eowyn said dismissively. "I can’t help thinking about poor Castigliari."

  


 

  


"Yes," Faramir nodded, feeling a pang of grief form the Haradrim general who had tried to do the right thing at the treaty and paid for it with his life. "He was a good man, far too good to deserve the fate that awaited him upon his return home."

  


 

  


Glad that he was focussing on another subject, Eowyn was more than happy to add her own commend to the discussion. "Do you think he knew that this could happen to him, Faramir?"

  


 

  


Faramir considered her question and remembered how sombre the Easterling delegation had been when they were leaving Minas Tirith. Castigliari in particular had been sombre but at the time the Ruling Council believed it was because he was taking the body of his king back to his people. Now Faramir wondered if his melancholy was not attributed instead to knowing what would be the consequences for what he had done. Reports from the Rangers in that region revealed that Castigliari’s trial had been a speedy affair, more for the purpose of inciting public outrage at his actions and provoking even more hostility towards the Reunified Kingdom who was painted as the chief architect of the murder.

  


"It is possible," Faramir answered after a moment, "he was concerned about returning home but Aragorn and I believed it was largely due to how news of Ulfrain’s alliance with the skin changers would be received, not because he would be held culpable for the king’s death."

  


 

  


"This world is far too ugly and brutal," Eowyn shook her head in disgust. "When Sauron was destroyed, the madness should have ended but it lives like a living, breathing creature that cannot die. As soon as we vanquish one foe, we are faced with another. When does it end?"

  


 

  


Faramir kept to himself his observations that his wife was in a particular dark mood of late. Considering the current situation, he could not blame her of course but her temperament had been laced with an impatience for things that should have been a way of life for them by now. Besides, he had never known Eowyn with a preference for things to be dull. His wife loved adventure and was rather made for it he thought. While she attended her duties as his wife within the court of Ithilien, she craved the extraordinary now and then. Fortunately, the trials their life seemed to face often satiated this need but Faramir was having difficulty believing that she wanted a quieter existence, even if he was somewhat pleased she wished to put herself out of harm’s way for a change.

  


 

  


"Darkness lies everywhere," he answered, still a little mystified by her behaviour. "Sauron may have caused much of it but not all. There are some threats that have little to do with magic or prophecy and simply are because of greed and ambition."

  


 

  


"I am sick of war," Eowyn said unhappily. "I am sick of it living with it all my life, first from the Dunlendings, then Isengard, Sauron and now this too. It is no wonder that I cannot eat. How can I think of food when you are going to face who knows what?"

  


 

  


"So that is what this is about?" Faramir stared at her. "You are worried because I will be soon leaving to join the king?"

  


 

  


"Yes, too many times I have lost the ones I loved in battle. First my father, followed by my mother who grew sick from grief and then my uncle. I have no idea how Eomer will fare when the battle reaches Edoras and now you are joining the king, awaiting an attack. I will not lose you too."

  


  
  
Faramir was rather surprised by the emotion she was displaying for his wife was no usually so sentimental. Eowyn was a daughter of a royal house and knew what it was to face this kind of duty. He supposed that she had a right to feel differently when it was a husband that was leaving her to go to war but seeing this display was rather unnerving and Faramir began to suspect that there might be more to it than what lay on the surface.

  


 

  


"Eowyn," he said seriously, "what troubles you so? It is more than the coming battle for I have not seen you in this state before. Please," he clutched her hand tightly, "tell me."

  


 

  


"I am not going with you and that I cannot go with you," she answered after a moment. Staring into his eyes, she wanted badly to tell him what worried her so but she dared not. He should not be burdened with such knowledge before he went off to do battle. She knew better than anyone how great a killer distraction could be on the battlefield. She did not wish to inflict that upon her husband when it was so necessary for him to come home to her.

  


 

  


"It is necessary for you to remain here in Ithilien," Faramir explained, sensing if there was not more than this but could not say for certain that she was deceiving him when he saw so much anguish in her eyes. "Our people need your strength and the days coming will be dark ones. They need someone to direct them when their fear becomes too much. You are the only one I feel capable of leaving such a duty. You are not only the Lady of Ithilien but you are the shield maiden of Rohan, the slayer of the Witch King. Your voice carries significant weight not only with our people but with the soldiers I leave here to protect the city."

  


 

  


"Then I should be with you on the battlefield," Eowyn met his eyes, "for it is there I will be of most to you."

  


 

  


Faramir opened his mouth to answer but Eowyn interrupted. 

  


 

  


"But I know that I cannot come with you and that my place is here, so you need not worry I will do anything foolish as I did when I joined Theoden in the march to Pelennor," Eowyn replied with a little smile. 

  


 

  


"Actually I thought that you are probably right," Faramir added with a slight chuckle, "you are formidable with a blade but I am glad to know that I will not have to keep watch for you."

  


 

  


"You should go make ready to leave," Eowyn replied. "I believe Beregond is waiting for you."

  


 

  


Faramir had forgotten, having been so rapt in the discussion with his wife that the meeting with the Captain of his guard had slipped his mind. However, he had a sense that she wished to be alone, perhaps to process what was said though there was still this nagging sensation that she had not been truthful about what troubled her. Unfortunately, Faramir had learnt from experience that Eowyn would tell him nothing until she was ready and lest he wanted to drive himself into further vexation trying to discern what was on her mind, Faramir decided that it was best to simply let the matter be.

  


 

  


"We will talk again," he said giving him a little kiss before walking out of the room.

  


 

  


Eowyn watched him go and did not break her gaze at the path he had taken out of her presence until many minutes had passed. Once she returned her attention back to the table and its contents, her first action was to slide the plate away. The smell of it did little to settle her queasy stomach and knowing the cause of it did not make her troubles any less. If anything it complicated things considerably. Lately, her mind kept returning to her parents. Orcs in Emyn Muil had killed her father Eomund, when she was a child. Her mother had never really recovered from the experience of birthing Eowyn and had remained sickly for years after. However, upon learning of her husband’s death, what strength she had was sapped away in grief and drove her inevitably to her grave. 

  


 

  


She and Eomer were then raised in the house of Theoden who treated them like his own children but Eowyn never forgot the parents that sired her, nor did she cease to miss them. Eomer in particular, missed their mother though he never said it out loud. How could he, when he was the Marshall of the Mark by the time he reached his early twenties? With Faramir now riding to face a new war after the alarming reports of the Haradrim amassing a considerable army, Eowyn was terrified that she would lose her husband the way Theodwyn had lost Eomund. 

  


 

  


Even more frightening was the thought that the child slumbering in her womb would know nothing of its father.

  


 

  


She should have told him. She wanted so much to tell him but she could not bear to burden him with such news when he was about to ride off into battle. Eowyn knew that if she told him that she was carrying his child, Faramir would never leave her side and it was imperative that he did for the sake of their kingdom and their future. For the last week, she had kept this secret inside her, trying desperately to hide the signs not only from her husband but also from the household staff who might inadvertently reveal it to Faramir if they started their gossiping. 

  


 

  


She knew there would come a time when she could no longer hide the truth and Eowyn prayed that this conflict would be over before she had to bring news to Faramir on the battlefield that he was a father. 

  


 

  


***************

  


 

  


  
  
Eomer was furious with himself.

  


 

  


He should have sent her home long before this but had succumbed to the desires of his heart by allowing her to remain. She should be safely at home in Dol Amroth under her father’s roof, not trapped here in Edoras with him. In truth, he could still send her home if he so wished it, escorted by a dozen Rohirrim to ensure that she arrived there safely, however, Eomer could not bring himself to have her leave Meduseld. He was not long past his thirtieth year and certainly passed the time when, as king, he should have taken a wife. While he endured the insistent suggestions by his counsellors that he should make the effort, Eomer had never gave those requests much credence until he met Lothiriel of Dol Amroth.

  


 

  


From the instant she graced Meduseld with her presence, it felt to Eomer and to the rest of the Golden Hall’s inhabitants that the void left by Eowyn was finally filled. Meduseld had been without a lady of the house since Eowyn had ridden away to Pelennor Fields. Since then, Eowyn’s return had only been visits since her place was now in Ithilien at the right hand of her husband, the Steward. Eowyn would have returned with him and Lothiriel if it had not been for the declaration of war made by the Haradrim and the Easterling Confederacy. Indeed, Eomer had been ready to send Lothiriel home to Dol Amroth but the young woman had used her considerable effect on him to good advantage. Even her father, Imrahil seemed to encourage her decision to come with him, hoping that the time together would hasten their union.

  


 

  


Once arriving in Edoras, they had spent most days together. He taught her how to ride, a thing she had been unable to do well but was determined to learn since much of the Rohirrim’s world revolved around horses. They rode everyday together, often accompanied by others in order to ensure the lady’s reputation was not compromised in anyway. She learnt quickly and Eomer felt his heart fall prey to her just a little more every day. Eomer could tell that she loved being with him, especially because he accepted her for what she was, a fledgling sorceress whose powers had saved Middle-Earth from utter ruin during the terrible business with the skin changers. 

  


 

  


At the time, he had been little concerned over the welfare of Rohan despite the declaration of war. Rohan was far from the borders of Gondor to be in any danger although Eomer had fully intended to support Aragorn in his campaign against any Easterling aggression. However, that had all changed when he received word that agents of the confederacy had approached a number of Dunlending tribes and might have possibly enlisted their aid in launching an attack upon Rohan. 

  


 

  


After the battle of the Hornburg, the Dunlending forces had been thoroughly defeated by the Rohirrim, Ents and Huorns. Without the leadership of Saruman to unite them, the remaining Dunlending forces splintered, with individual tribes suing for their own peace. There were some who had begrudgingly accepted defeat but refuse to ally themselves with the Rohirrim as the other tribes had done. It was these few that gave Eomer his greatest concern because they would be able to facilitate an enemy force if it chose to attack Rohan. The tribes found their refuge in the Misty Mountains since the terrain was well known to them and were capable of remaining hidden indefinitely. They knew parts of the mountain range where horses could not travel and so they were relatively free to plot all manner of mischief. 

  


 

  


As it was, Eomer had stationed his men along the River Isen, certain that if the rebel tribes were to gain help from their Easterling allies, there would be no other way for it to reach them other than through the river. The Rohirrim were also keeping watch upon the Gap of Rohan but the truth was, the Dunlendings were adept at not only fighting through means of open warfare but also by more insidious methods, employing covert tactics that were difficult to defend against. It was partially this reason that Eomer was reluctant to send Lothiriel beyond the safety of Edoras. However, as an excuse it was weak and it only served to convince him that he had to do what was sensible, not what was in his heart.

  


 

  


Eomer supposed it would make things considerably simpler if he simply married Lothiriel immediately and provide her with a legitimate reason to remain. However, his whole intention of bringing her to Edoras was so that he could get to know her and the business of spending an entire lifetime was nothing to take lightly. He did not want either of them to be rushed into such a choice because the times were perilous. He knew that she held some apprehension about being queen since her entire life had been devoted to a dream of becoming a true wizard. He did not doubt that she cared for him deeply but it was another thing entirely to become a queen, to be able to share the responsibility of a kingdom. 

  


 

  


He had finally reached a decision and knew that she would not like it when he presented it to her. Following the latest discussion with his councillors, Eomer sought out Lothiriel, determined to do what was best for her, despite the feelings inside of him. It was late in the afternoon when he found her in one of the terraced gardens of Meduseld. It was not possible to have expansive gardens like those in Gondor when Edoras was built upon a hill. Many years ago, one of Rohan’s kings had carved out a section of it and set his engineers the task of building his lady, a native of Gondor, a small garden to remind her home. In subsequent years, it had been maintained by those who followed and was a favourite place for many who resided in the Golden Hall. 

  


 

  


Since her arrival in Meduseld, Eomer knew that Lothiriel liked to sit upon the marble benches and read her books surrounded by the trees and flowering shrubs to be found within its confines. As a visitor without any defined role in the Golden Hall, Lothiriel found this place a suitable distraction for the times when Eomer had matters of state to attend. He supposed that within the garden, she felt less likely to be in anyone’s way.

  


 

  


"My lord," she said with a happy smile when he stepped into the garden. "How does this evening find you?"

  


 

  


Her smile immediately engendered one of his own and Eomer felt that same lift in his heart at the sight of her. She would be in his opinion, the most beautiful women he had ever seen. With glorious jets of dark hair and almost porcelain like beauty, he was sometimes almost afraid to touch her for fear that she would break. When she moved, it was like a dance of light, not like the clumsy movement of a warrior whose only grace seemed to come when he was astride a horse. 

  


 

  


"I am well," he answered warmly as he sat beside her on the bench of polished marble. "I am sorry that I have been indisposed for most of the day. There are times when my responsibilities as king cannot be avoided."

  


 

  


"I understand," she replied meeting his gaze with sincere understanding. "I remember what it was like during our war with Sauron. I hardly saw my father during those days while you have made every effort to spend time with me despite the circumstances. I am grateful for that but you are king, and I understand that I must sometimes give you up to that title."

  


 

  


Eomer let out a heavy sigh and declared, "You do not make what I have to say any easier, my lady."

  


 

  


Lothiriel’s expression became dark with suspicion, "what is it you plan to say?"

  


 

  


Eomer took another deep breath and found that this was harder to do than fighting orcs and Uruk Hai. "I am sending some of my Rohirrim to Ithilien to bolster its defences. They will leave at dawn tomorrow. I have requested that they take you with them. They will be able to escort you to Minas Tirith and from there you should be afforded safe conduct to Dol Amroth."

  


 

  


Lothiriel’s eyes showed her hurt and it was like a knife in Eomer’s heart. 

  


 

  


"You are sending me away?" She asked softly, her lips quivering with disappointment as she spoke.

  


 

  


"Only for a time," Eomer replied quickly. "There is a possibility rebel tribes from Dunland may aid an enemy incursion into Rohan. As unlikely as it may be, I would rather you away from Edoras should the violence penetrate this deep into our territory."

  


 

  


"I do not wish to go," Lothiriel stated at him, unable to believe that he would simply send her away like this. "I wish to remain here," she added further though she did not say that it was for him that she wanted to stay in the Golden Hall.

  


 

  


"Believe me, I wish nothing more than you to stay at my side," Eomer aimed his penetrating gaze at her, "but I would not risk you life by allowing you to remain in Edoras."

  


 

  


Lothiriel turned away from him, trying to compose herself. She was hurt by his intention to send her home. After the last few weeks, she had thought that he understood how she felt for him. Ever since they had met, the King of the Mark had touched her heart deeply, in a manner she would have never believed possibly particularly since the idea of their union was initially forced upon Lothiriel by her father. The weeks they had spent together since her arrival in Edoras convincing Lothiriel that her heart had not led her astray in her regard for him. 

  


 

  


"You take the choice away from me," she replied, unable to look at him because he would only see her tears if she did.

  


 

  


"Not because I wish to," Eomer declared, hearing the tremor in her voice. "Your family will need you at home at this time. It is not right that I should keep you here."

  


 

  


"My father has my brothers," Lothiriel faced him again. "He has little need of me except to keep me trapped at home. Here I can be of comfort to you and perhaps help in learning the ways of your house. You need me here Eomer, I know you do."

  


 

  


"I do need you and if we had the time to know each other more, you would see just how much but it is not proper that you remain under my roof. You are daughter of Dol Amroth and there has been no understanding between your father and I about your hand other than my awareness of his desire for a union between us." 

  


  
  
Lothiriel stood up and glared at him in anger, "so like him, you would simply decide for me and have me sent away at your convenience?"

  


 

  


For weeks now, they have danced around each other, unable to deny this powerful attraction they had felt for each other. Following the events at the failed treaty in Minas Tirith, Lothiriel had confessed to Eomer that she was terrified for his life during those dark hours when he and the rest of the ruling council were lost to themselves. In that dire hour, she realised how she felt and it was that understanding of her emotions that saw her return with him to Edoras. However, the intensity of their growing affection for one another was a thing unspoken at this time. Why could he simply not admit how he felt? If he wanted to marry her, all he had to do was say. She had long since overcome the hurdle that their relationship was forced because her father had placed them together to begin with.

  


 

  


"You know that is not how it is," Eomer defended himself against the accusation. However, he could not deny that she had good reason to be upset. "As remote as the possibility is that the Dunlendings may attack Edoras, I cannot risk your life. You should return to your father’s house. I thought you would like to go home."

  


 

  


"Oh you fool!" She snapped in exasperation. "Do you not understand any single thing? I love you, you simpleton! Do you think that my desire to remain here is because I have an overt liking to the smell of horses?"

  


 

  


Eomer stared at her, rather astonished that she had said it out loud. "One gets accustomed to the smell of horses after a time," he muttered foolishly, mostly because he could think of nothing else to say even though the most obvious statement was the furthest thing from his mind at that moment.

  


 

  


"Did you hear me?" Lothiriel demanded, wondering if she had made a dreadful mistake in revealing her heart to soon. 

  


 

  


"You really wish to remain?" He asked somewhat dazed. 

  


 

  


"I wish to remain at your side," Lothiriel, starting to understand his hesitation more than he possibly knew. He was afraid. He was afraid of admitting how he felt. Knowing that, made Lothiriel’s course clearer. 

  


 

  


Eomer wished Eowyn were here. If his sister were here, she would tell him what he should say instead of his standing here like a tongue tied boy after Lothiriel had made such a personal declaration. His experience with women of her pedigree was limited even though he was not unknown to women. The business of courtship was something he had never learnt because his youth was spent fighting Orcs and preparing to ride in the company of the Rohirrim. At twenty-two he had become the Third 

[Marshal](http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/m/marshalofthemark.html) of [Riddermark](http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/r/riddermark.html) and any dalliance with the opposite sex following that was fleeting. He know how he felt about her but he could not bring himself to say it because it would mean exposing too much of his heart. Eomer, who had spent too much time alone in his life, was not ready for such a thing.  


 

  


Still, in the light of her revelation, he knew he could not send her back to her father.

  


 

  


"It could be dangerous," he replied. 

  


 

  


"I know," she nodded and kissed him gently, an action that only made him even more unbalanced. Whether or not he knew it, Lothiriel somewhat enjoyed seeing him that way. 

  


 

  


"I will send word to your father," Eomer responded. 

  


 

  


"That I am staying here?" She asked. 

  


 

  


"Yes," he nodded, uncertain at how he had been manoeuvred into this position when he had intended to send her away. 

  


 

  


"Are you alright?" Lothiriel stared at him. 

  


  
  
"Yes," he swallowed thickly and then blinked to clear his thoughts. He needed to tell her how he felt, he could not simply let her say what she had and not answer in return. Eomer was not so callous to do that and in truth, it needed to be said. 

  


 

  


"You know that I feel the same as you, that I, well you know, I feel as much…" he started to ramble.

  


 

  


She placed her finger upon his lips and silenced him. "You do not have to say anything," she stared into his eyes. "I love you King of the Mark with all my heart. I do not wish to marry you tomorrow for there is too much happening at the moment for that. However, I would like to remain here and be what help to you I can. If by my presence alone, I can soothe your worries, please allow me the chance to do so. At home, I will be able to contribute nothing to the danger that is around us, but if I can help the people of Edoras by being at your side, then I beseech you to let me stay."

  


 

  


"You presence helps me and perhaps it is best that you remain here now that we have spoken our minds," Eomer answered; unable to believe how differently this encounter had turned out from how he originally thought.

  


 

  


"If we are to have any future together," Lothiriel said firmly, "I must remain at your side to aid in our present."

  


  
  
"You father will be thrilled," Eomer retorted.

  


 

  


**************

  


 

  


It was already afternoon and Legolas Greenleaf knew that he was being rather decadent since he and his lady had yet to emerge from their bed chamber. Gazing out the window, the Lord of Eden Ardhon saw that morning was almost over as Laurelin’s fruit reached the climax of its journey across the sky. Beyond the walls of their chambers, he could hear the sound of elves going about their business as they continued the business of establishing the colony in South Ithilien. The place where Legolas had built their home stood upon a gentle hill that gave them a scenic view of the River Poros as well as the well as the forest that surrounded Eden Ardhon. 

  


 

  


While it appeared that Middle-Earth was poised upon the knife’s edge of war, for the moment the conflict seemed very far away as Legolas and Melia enjoyed a lazy morning together. These days there was so much work to be done, what with the great hall that Legolas had commissioned Gimli to build as gathering place for the community and the continued work on the colony itself. There seemed hardly any time left over for them. However, Legolas who was always burdened with the knowledge that his life with Melia was finite, ensured that there were occasions when they simply had to make the time for each other even if it was meant taking a morning for themselves. 

  


 

  


Legolas watched Melia sleep, basking in the loveliness of her as she dreamed about wonderful things, he hoped. If circumstance allowed it, he would spend every waking moment with her and forget the world outside completely because someday she would be gone and he would be alone. Legolas had accepted the tragedy of this when he gave his heart to Melia. Yet when he watched her like this and remembered that someday, the space she filled so warmly beside him would be empty, he could not help wanting to cherish every second with her.

  


 

  


In the end, the memories would be all he had left of her. 

  


 

  


Melia was lying in the sheets next to him; oblivious to his ruminations. Legolas felt the familiar tingle of arousal as he took in the sight of her body, separated from his touch by a thin layer of silk. She was lying on her stomach, dark hair covering most of her face when Legolas nuzzled closer to her as another wave of desire took control of his baser desires. Legolas brushed aside her tousled dark hair, seeking through the strands of jet for the soft skin of her neck. 

  


 

  


She pushed up against him in her sleep, not at all minding his weight on top of her as she slumbered. Letting out a pleasured sigh when Legolas found her neck, the elf smiled as he lowered his mouth and started teasing her skin her by tracing circles against it. She was still asleep but he could feel her body responding immediately to the gentle nips along the length of her neck before he sucked insistently in the curve where it met her shoulder. 

  


 

  


She opened her eyes and met his with a gleam of mischief, sensing his intent and more than willing to submit to his tender caresses. Legolas raised his head and they smiled at each other like playful children before he lowered his lips to hers and captured her mouth in a kiss that was not at all innocent. As the intensity of it grew into fiery passion, they made love like lovers who had found each other after a long fast. Their passion was a tender thing of taste and touch, of scent and soft cries of pleasure. They knew each other well and they knew what each other liked. Their bodies moved together in perfect unison, much like their souls and when they could pleasure each other no more, both descended the cloud of sensation together. 

  


 

  


When their physical thirst for one another was quenched, they lay in each other’s arm, savouring the pleasure of feeling each other’s heart beating against them. It was a moment of perfection, one Legolas would carry with him for the rest of his days and Melia, until the day she left him forever. 

  


  
  
"We are being terribly decadent," Melia smiled, still glowing from their earlier passion. 

  


 

  


"I know," Legolas answered, not at all repentant as he idled with a strand of her dark hair. "However, there is some advantage to being Lord of Eden Ardhon."

  


  
  
"I thought that meant you should lead by example," Melia stared at him with an arched brow.

  


 

  


"That would be true except that I am burdened with a wife who has an insatiable appetite for me," Legolas grinned. 

  


 

  


"Insatiable?" Melia exclaimed at him in mock outrage. "I think you flatter yourself Prince."

  


 

  


"I do not need to flatter myself," he replied enjoying her reaction immensely. "It is clear to everyone that you hunger for me constantly. If only you knew how pitied I am among elves." 

  


 

  


"Pitied!" Melia snatched her pillow from under her and swatted him with it. Legolas wrapped his arms around her waist before they wrestled briefly in a moment of complete foolishness that ended them with each of them laughing like children. 

  


 

  


However, the moment was indeed brief for a sharp knock to the door of their chambers interrupted their play abruptly.

  


 

  


"Who is it?" Legolas asked, rather annoyed that they were being interrupted but realising a second later that no one would intrude upon them in this manner without good reason. 

  


 

  


"It is Miriel my Lord," the familiar voice of the elven woman who had left Lorien to join the colony. "Forgive me for intruding upon you but Nunaur has returned and he brings grave news."

  


 

  


Legolas and Melia met each other’s gaze briefly and realised that their afternoon together was over. It was time to return to the world and all its troubles. 

  


 

  


************

  


 

  


 

  


When Legolas and Melia arrived in the middle of the square that passed for the centre of Eden Ardhon, Gimli was already present. The dwarf had sent the elves to the town of Lebethron to collect the lumber needed for the great hall he was building. Nunaur and a handful of elves had set out a number of days ago and were not expected back so quickly since they would be making the return journey with wagons of lumber. That Nunuar and the others had returned home so swiftly engendered feelings of dread within the elven lord of Eden Ardhon.

  


 

  


"Nunaur, what has happened?" Legolas asked sternly, impatient to hear this grave news he had brought with their return.

  


 

  


The march warden whose attention was divided between his lord and one of the other elves who was cradling something wrapped in his cloak, did not answer immediately. Only when the elf Aloin stepped forward, carrying his precious cargo did Legolas understand the reason for Nunaur’s distraction. 

  


 

  


"Sweet Eru," Legolas whispered as Aloin revealed the young girl wrapped in his cloak. 

  


  
  
She was but seven years old if that, with a face smudged with dirt and with what every elf present was certain was blood. The child was trembling hard but it had nothing to do with cold. Her eyes were glazed and though she appeared to be staring, it was clear that she saw nothing. 

  


 

  


"What happened to her?" Melia stepped forward immediately and bid Aloin to hand her the child. Sensing a feminine presence despite her catatonia, the child wrapped her arms around Melia and held fast, inspired by vague memories of the mother she had watched die not long ago. 

  


  
  
"We found her," Nunaur turned his attention to Legolas finally, swallowing hard the bile that was rising from the pit of his stomach as he remembered what he had seen in that village, "in what remains of Lebethron."

  


 

  


"What remains?" Gimli exclaimed having travelled there for lumber when he was in the midst of constructing the gates for Aragorn’s city. It was a pleasant place he had always intended to visit again. "It is destroyed?"

  


 

  


"It is more than destroyed," Nunaur answered bitterly. "Someone had murdered every living thing in that village. We found the bodies of men, women and children, slaughtered. It was butchery! This child is all that is left of Lebethron. We searched everywhere and not one was left alive save this child. There were children run through my lord, children! The women were violated before their deaths and the men were strung up like carcasses!"

  


 

  


"Did she see all of this?" Melia asked in horror as she looked at the poor waif in her embrace. The child had curled her arms around the former Ranger’s neck, resting her head against Melia’s breast as if needing to feel the warm that only a woman could provide. 

  


 

  


"I believe so," Alion nodded. "However, we cannot be certain."

  


 

  


"Why not?" Legolas looked at the child and felt his heartache for the horror she must have bore witness to. For a child that young, such trauma could cause permanent injury to her mind. 

  


 

  


"She has not spoken a word since we found her," Nunaur explained. "She had climbed into the hollow of a tree and hidden there for most of the attack. She was still there when we arrived. If it were not for our elven hearing, it is likely we would not have found her at all."

  


 

  


"You’re safe now little one," Melia cooed softly in the girl’s ear, though she doubted the child could register a great deal in light of her ordeal. "We will let nothing harm you."

  


 

  


"My lord, there were mumakil tracks all around the village," Nunaur explained. "It was an Easterling attack."

  


 

  


"Why Lebethron of all places?" Gimli asked, still unable to believe that an entire town could be wiped away so callously. "They were fisherman and tree farmers! It held nothing of value except lumber and the Easterlings could not be so hungry for that it was necessary to murder so many innocents?"

  


 

  


"Are you certain that it was the Easterlings?" Legolas asked once more. "Perhaps it was Orcs or Uruk Hai. Easterlings do attack with such brutality but they seldom take the lives of women and children. Women are valuable to them as commodities and children are incapable of offering any sort of threat."

  


 

  


"It _was_ the Easterlings," Nunaur stated with more certainty that Legolas liked. "Every building was trampled into the dirt by mumakils. The beasts charged the village and ran down anyone in their path. Spears and arrows impaled those villagers who were not killed in the stampede. The design of the weapons we recovered are clearly of Easterling origin. There can be no doubt of it. They did not even remain long enough to take anything of value."

  


 

  


Legolas had a good idea what the destruction of Lebethron was meant to signify though it disgusted him to admit it.

  


 

  


"We must get word to Gondor that they have finally begun their campaign," Legolas said grimly, dreading to think how Aragorn would take the news of the slaughter. "Clearly this was a message of some sort since I can see no other reason why they would launch an attack on a village with so little importance strategically." 

  


 

  


Nunaur and Alion exchanged a look which Legolas caught almost immediately. "What is it?"

  


 

  


Nunaur’s gaze dropped and Legolas saw the rush of blood to the elf’s face that indicated the extent of his outrage. From within his cloak, he produced a rolled parchment and handed it to Legolas who took it gingerly. 

  


 

  


"You are correct of it being a message but it is not a message to Gondor," Nunaur answered after a moment. "We found this pinned to one of the bodies that were strung up."

  


  
  
Legolas unrolled the parchment and read the words scrawled in blood across the paper. His jaw tensed and Melia saw the heat of a thousand suns burning in his eyes as he read its contents. His knuckles became white as he clutched the paper and she knew that it was quite possible that she had never seen him so angry before. When he lowered the parchment a moment later, Melia saw his hands were shaking with fury. 

  


 

  


"What does it say?" She was almost afraid to ask.

  


 

  


"Nunaur speaks the truth, it is not a message for Gondor," Legolas met her gaze and that of Gimli’s in quick succession. "It is a message for us, specifically for me."

  


 

  


"And?" Gimli demanded, unable to stand the suspense when his friend appeared ready to scream in rage. 

  


 

  


"It says," Legolas spoke with a voice of stone, "do not meddle in the affairs of men lest the we wish the fate of Lebethron to be the fate of Eden Ardhon."


	3. Chapter Two: Neutrality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed a bold plan, an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war.Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose.

When Legolas and Gimli reached Lebethron, little had occurred to alter Nunaur’s description of tragedy at what had befallen the village.

  


 

  


Indeed, Nunaur’s description of the terrible destruction wrought upon Lebethron seemed to pale in comparison with the reality that they were forced to witness as they rode into the town. Even as they neared the outskirts of the Lebethron, party of travellers could smell the stench of bodies that covered the land like uncovered graves. Once they entered Lebethron, the stench of bodies had given way to the overwhelming silence whose potency was almost as acute as the former. It was not to say that there was no sound at all, for they could still hear the noises of the forest from which Lebethron had relied upon for much of its commerce. Birds and insects chirped in complete obliviousness to the dark events through the rustling leaves of trees that would not know another harvest for many years.

  


 

  


The horses as they took the path into the village reared their heads in protest as the scent of the dead made them instinctually wary of venturing further. The elves soothed their steeds’ anxiety but could do little to suppress their own horror as they saw for themselves the extent of the destruction. Nunaur’s description of butchery was not exaggerated. The elves, which had lived long and had seen much of ugliness in both human and other races, were moved to shock at what they were confronted with as they entered the village.

  


 

  


Gimli had travelled to Lebethron once before and he remembered the village as being a warm place, peopled with folk that were hard working, honest and kind. They had been so proud that the lumber for which they were so noted would be used in the fortifications for the White City. Gimli remembered sharing draught with one of the village elders, a carpenter named Selywn, an agreeable man whom Gimli had looked forward to meeting again. As his eyes swept over the dead bodies, some trampled beyond recognition, Gimli knew that it was highly likely that one of them belonged to Selwyn. Gimli forced the thought away because he knew it would only unleash the full vent of his sorrow and he had no wish to appear so vulnerable in the company of elves, even if one was a trusted friend.

  


 

  


Still, it was difficult to remain untouched by what they were seeing before them. There was no way that they could compare what they were seeing with any previous acts of aggression by the enemy. During the War of the Ring, the Southrons and the Easterlings had attacked Gondor with a vengeance, spurred on by Sauron’s powers and the promise that Isildur’s Bane would make them invincible. Villages were attacked with savagery but none had been subjected to the brutality that was inflicted upon Lebethron on this occasion. Women and children were left alive, brutalised no doubt, but not murdered in wholesale slaughter. The Easterlings had wanted their enemies to fear them and such fear was best conveyed in the frightened tales of survivors. However, such was not the case here.

  


 

  


Buildings that were once homes, community gathering places such as inns and meeting halls, lay on the ground, mounds of broken wood crushed underfoot by the fearsome mumakils ridden by the enemy. It was as if the whole of Lebethron was flattened under the weight of a giant hand, smashing them into the dirt. Fences of stone and wood added themselves to the piles of debris scattered throughout the village. Gardens were trampled into mud, shrubs and bushes crushed into the earth. Flower petals sprayed across the destroyed gardens and anything of beauty that might have captured the eye was ruined for the purpose of the lesson the enemy was attempting to teach them.

  


 

  


Yet none of this was as disturbing as the bodies.

  


 

  


Legolas and Gimli who had travelled through Moria and seen the death of Moria’s dwarf population, tried not to be affected by the carnage but it was impossible. Among the dead were children, their throats cut open in a clean, slash across their necks. Their clothes were soiled with blood and despite the violence of their ending, their faces looked innocent,as innocent as the face of a murdered child could be. It did not matter that some were infants or barely able to walk, their lives were taken just the same. Once finished with, they were left to die, their blood soaking into the dusty ground. 

  


 

  


The women were killed in similar fashion, the ones who were not raped first. Legolas’ jaw tightened when he saw that many of the women were unclothed and the terrible marks on their body left no doubt as to their fates. A surge of fury rose up within him because to an elf, there was no greater crime than this brutal violation of the body. If such things could be measured, the crime was held in worse regard than even that of murder. Elves did not look kindly upon those who engaged such barbaric acts and even more so if it were one of their own that committed it. 

  


 

  


The men were killed outright. If there was any consolation to be had, they were spared the ordeal of their women. However, in death, their bodies had been no less violated. Nunaur was right; some of the bodies were strung up in a stomach turning display of savagery. Like meat hanging in a butcher’s shop, a dozen or so men were suspended from a large tree in the centre of the village. Carrion birds were beginning to feed upon them and scene was so grisly that Legolas was certain he heard someone in their party, retch in disgust. It was clear that they had been killed before they were hung in such a manner and once again, Legolas was struck by the memory that this was a warning to him, not to allow the elves to become involved in the conflict that would soon plunge Middle earth into war.

  


 

  


"Cut them down," Legolas said to no one in particular when he finally turned away, unable to look any more. 

  


 

  


Nunaur who had insisted on returning with his lord once he had rested, stepped forward grimly, glad that he was finally able to do what he had wished to when they had first come upon Lebethron. He had wanted to give the poor unfortunates a proper burial but without any knowledge of whether or not the enemy would return and with the discovery of the child, the march warden had felt it best that they depart immediately, leaving Lebethron’s folk in the manner he had discovered them. This has preyed heavily upon the mind of Eden Ardhon’s march warden and though Legolas had asked him to remain home, the elf had beseeched his lord to allow him to accompany Legolas on this journey.

  


 

  


"They deserve death for this!" Gimli exploded, unable to rein in his fury much longer.

  


 

  


"They deserve that and more," Legolas nodded in agreement. He was glad that Melia had chosen to remain for he did not know how she would take seeing the full extent of her people’s savagery. It was one thing to hear of it but to see it in such gruesome detail was something else entirely and he wished her spared of the ordeal. 

  


 

  


"What do you plan to do?" Gimli asked as Nunaur and those under his command undertook the task Legolas had set them.

  


 

  


"I do not know," Legolas answered truthfully. The question Gimli was asking was one he had been debating with since they had set out from Eden Ardhon. He wished Aragorn were here because he needed the counsel of the king before he could make this decision. Prior to leaving Eden Ardhon, he had sent word to Ithilien, aware that Aragorn would already have left Gondor bound for Ithilien. They had mistakenly believed that the first attack upon the lands of the Westernesse would take place at Ithilien. Certainly, Lebethron had never even crossed their minds as a possible target of the Easterlings first strike. 

  


 

  


"They did this to warn you!" Gimli retorted, his fury spurring him to speak with heated emotions. "You cannot simply do nothing!" 

  


 

  


Legolas turned around sharply and stared at Gimli, "do you think I wish to remain behind while my friends go to war? I would ride by Aragorn, Faramir and Eomer into fire if I were given the choice, but Aragorn himself told me this was a matter for men, not elves! He believes that I would imperil Eden Ardhon unnecessarily if the elves were to cast our lot with men. Already, there are many tribes of Easterling and Southrons gathered against the Reunified Kingdom but some linger, unwilling to engage in another war. If those nations, for one moment, thought the elves would fight for Gondor, there is no telling how they would react to such news. Those who may not wish to fight might be incited to by their hatred of us!" 

  


 

  


"They would not dare attack you!" Gimli returned just as sharply.

  


 

  


"Why would they not?" Legolas countered. "Our presence in Middle earth is nowhere what it used to be. Even though Eryn Lasgalen, Imladris and East Lorien are still occupied, it is no secret that our numbers are dwindling. If we were to involve ourselves in this conflict, it might worsen the situation."

  


 

  


"Or it might end it decisively," the dwarf retaliated with just as much passion. "Aragorn worries that Eden Ardhon lies too far beyond Gondor and Ithilien’s reach to protect your city should you become embroiled in the war but while you fear that the Easterlings may gain more support for their campaign by the involvement of the elves, has it not occurred to you that they might also be deterred by it?"

  


 

  


"It is not that simple," Legolas took a deep breath and released it as he gazed upon the dwarf. No one this earth could vex him as much as the son of Gloin. Legolas was certain that half the reason he loved Melia so much was because her gruff, practical manner reminded her a little of the dwarf, certainly they both delighted in driving him mad. 

  


 

  


"My father has no wish to embroil himself in the affairs of men," Legolas confessed. "He would not help even if he were asked."

  


 

  


At their last meeting, Thranduil had spoken most empathically on how he felt about the notion of war and involving himself in Gondor’s politics. Prior to the treaty ceremony that should have sealed the alliance of the Reunified Kingdom and the Easterling Confederacy, Legolas had invited Thranduil to come to Minas Tirith to participate. The King of Mirkwood had said quite firmly that he had no desire to deal with the politics of men and wished only to be left alone. While Celeborn had not been quite so lacking in diplomacy, the lord of East Lorien had echoed the same sentiments and while Legolas had no doubt that Elladan and Elrohir would pledge Imladris’ support behind Aragorn if required, Imladris was a long way from the front lines.

  


 

  


"He is your father," Gimli pointed out. "If you were in danger, there is no doubt in my mind he would aid you."

  


 

  


"I know that as well," Legolas retorted, having already thought of this argument long before Gimli had made mention it. "So do I ignore the words of Aragorn and force Eden Ardhon’s support upon the king, possibly inciting the neutral Easterling tribes into action, placing Eden Ardhon into peril and thus giving no choice but to force the other elven nations to end their neutrality or do I follow Aragorn’s advice and let them sort it out for themselves, as they should?"

  


 

  


Gimli frowned unhappily, seeing why Legolas was so conflicted and not envying the decision the elf was required to make. "I see your point."

  


 

  


"Thank you," Legolas replied even though he knew that doubts remained still in Gimli’s mind for it certainly remained in his own. "While we wait for Aragorn to arrive, we will do the only thing that is left to be done for Lebethron and that is to give its folk a proper burial."

  


 

  


Gimli could not disagree with Legolas’ suggestion despite his wish to exact a more telling course of action, particularly upon the Easterlings who had undertaken this cruel revenge upon the people of Lebethron. Gimli thought of Selwyn, his family and the community that the carpenter had lived all his life and knew that for him, neutrality was a foul word. If he could inspire his brethren to rise up against the Easterlings, he would do so gladly but he knew dwarfs even better than elves. Gimli could venture a guess at their answer if he should attempt anything as ill advised as putting forward a request for the dwarfs to assist the men of Gondor in their battles. How could he rebuke the elves for choosing to remain unaligned in this matter when the dwarf community was no better?

  


 

  


"It is a good thing that your lady chose to remain at Eden Ardhon," Gimli replied, deciding that the best course of action was to change the subject. 

  


 

  


"Yes," Legolas nodded with complete agreement. "I think she feels rather responsible because she is an Easterling herself."

  


 

  


"A foolish notion," Gimli muttered as he and Legolas moved deeper into the ruined village. "She has not been an Easterling for many years."

  


 

  


"It does not change the fact that many will still see her as one. She was no better received when we first arrived at East Lorien together. Being my wife does not change the fact that she is from a race Middle earth now consider an enemy."

  


 

  


Legolas was actually rather grateful that Melia had chosen to remain at home to tend to the young child who was the only survivor of this massacre. He did not wish to tell her that her presence might create further complications if they were to encounter the Easterlings who carried out this atrocity. Sauron had bred the races under his command with a natural disdain for the elves, Legolas could not even begin to imagine what they would think of a woman of their own blood, who had not only rejected their ways but had also taken an Eldar as husband. The outrage of it, especially to an Easterling, would be extreme and Legolas was relieved that Melia was at home, beyond harm’s reach.

  


 

  


"I think you underestimate your reputation," Gimli retorted. "You are beloved even among men, I doubt that anyone would see Melia as less when you have chosen her as your wife."

  


 

  


"As much as I regard them, the hearts of men are easily swayed by fear and this are fearful times. I believe the safest place for Melia is at home," Legolas answered. 

  


 

  


"Perhaps you are right," Gimli could not disagree with the elf’s desire for his lady’s safety. Gimli himself was rather grateful that his own wife, Lorin, preferred to remain at their home in Aglarond far away from the business of war. "However, it is my experience that the lady does not need protecting. If anything, she is quite capable of looking after herself."

  


 

  


Legolas turned to Gimli and remarked, "in my experience, no one is completely invulnerable, particularly those who think they can look after themselves."

  


 

  


Gimli did not know how to answer and decided that perhaps silence was best for now. With the grisly work ahead of them, it was rather appropriate.

  


 

  


************

  


 

  


When the news reached him from Eden Ardhon, Aragorn did not know if he was more furious at the Easterlings or himself for not being able to guess where they would strike first in this war. All this time, they had been certain that Ithilien would be the first place the enemy would chose to launch their campaign against the Reunified Kingdom, Lebethron was never ever considered. Why should it? The King of Gondor asked himself as he and Faramir rode to Lebethron soon after Legolas’ message had been delivered. 

  


 

  


Lebethron had no value as a military target. They had anticipated the Easterling army would take the Harad Road with the Mountains of Shadow flanking their journey northward. It was for this reason that Aragorn had asked for Legolas’ neutrality in the conflict. The king knew that Eden Ardhon would be within reach of any Easterling army choosing to journey this path towards the territories of the Reunified Kingdom and if Legolas threw his support behind Gondor, there was no reason why the enemy would not strike in retaliation. While the enemy would prefer to avoid an elven interest in what was largely a human war, Aragorn could not be certain that their spite would be restrained by reason.

  


 

  


Despite the destruction of Lebethron, there was a much larger issue that had raised considerable concern throughout the ranks of the Gondorian and Ithilien army and that was the realisation that the enemy was not where they thought they would be. It appeared that the Confederacy had not travelled up the Harad Road and since they could not possibly have a fleet large enough to mount a naval invasion after Pelargir, Aragorn concluded that they only way they could advance was through the mountains of Ephel Dúath. The thought that they might use the mountains as their crossing left Aragorn deeply unsettled for there were too many places where the enemy might enter the territory of the Reunified Kingdom unseen. 

  


 

  


Upon learning of the attack upon Lebethron, Aragorn had sent word to all his Rangers to keep watch for the mountains because if the Easterlings were capable of wreaking such destruction upon the village without anyone suspecting their arrival, then no one was safe. Aragorn was deeply concerned that their intelligence was unable to determine exactly which path the enemy was taking to reach the western lands. The king suspected that the army he had amassed at Ithilien was now awaiting a battle that would take elsewhere and that concerned the king greatly. 

  


 

  


With the exception of Eden Ardhon and Emyn Arnen at Ithilien, there were no great cities flanking the mountains of Ephel Dúath, which lead to the conclusion that the Easterlings may be intending to attack villages in a bid for territory and supplies, as it had done to Lebethron. The thought of the enemy besieging folk who had know ability to wage war against an army of that measure of brutality, filled the king with anger and made him more determined to find the enemy at all costs.

  


 

  


"You think I should have remained in Ithilien," Aragorn remarked as he and Faramir journeyed to Lebethron. 

  


 

  


"I do," Faramir glanced briefly at his king before his eyes faced the road once again. "However, I understand your desire to go."

  


 

  


Faramir had wanted Aragorn to remain in Ithilien because the news of Lebethron’s destruction indicated that they were at a disadvantage at not knowing the whereabouts of the Easterling army. It would be unwise for the king to be unprotected at such a time. However, nothing that Faramir could say would deter the king from his intended course. In the end, the Prince of Ithilien had to be satisfied with Aragorn making the journey dressed in the fashion he had when he was still the Dunedain. In fact, both men discarded their clothes for the garb they had worn when they were both still Rangers. The effect once they were ready, was more than capable of promoting the illusion that they were simple travellers and not the two most important men in the Reunified Kingdom.

  


 

  


Despite his disagreement with Aragorn making the journey, he could appreciate why the king would want to go personally to Lebethron. Faramir felt the same outrage and the Prince could not begin to imagine what was in the king’s mind as they took the road to their rendezvous with Legolas and Gimli. 

  


 

  


"I must see Legolas," Aragorn declared surprising Faramir with his answer a little.

  


 

  


"Why?" Faramir stared at him.

  


 

  


"I know him," Aragorn frowned as he thought of the message he had received from the Lord of Eden Ardhon. "What happened at Lebethron will only enflame his desire to put the weight of Eden Ardhon behind our cause. Legolas is not one to succumb to coercion and though the Easterlings may be foolish enough to assume that the massacre at Lebethron would serve to deter Eden Ardhon’s involvement, I can tell you now that it will not. If anything, it would provoke Legolas’ self righteous fury into doing the exact opposite of what they intend."

  


  
  
He was right, Faramir realised. Although he did not know Legolas as long as Aragorn, he had come to know the elf well since the War of the Ring and their subsequent establishment as masters of Ithilien. After Legolas had began building his colony in Eden Ardhon, Faramir had often visited the fledgling community to see how the elves fared in the southern provinces of Ithilien and counted the elf as one of his dearest friends. Faramir often thought that he and Legolas were a great deal alike in their disposition, bound by loyalty and friendship to the king, perfectly willing to ride at his side into any calamity but also willing to take charge when the situation required. 

  


 

  


Faramir was perfectly aware of the stubborn streak possessed by the elf after numerous adventures together. Legolas would not take too kindly to coercion and Faramir began to understand that Aragorn’s fierce desire to reach Lebethron was not because he wanted to see for himself the carnage that had taken place, but to ensure that Legolas did not do anything that would irrevocably commit his people to war.

  


 

  


"He does not know where they are," Faramir remarked, trying to assuage Aragorn’s anxiety. 

  


 

  


Unfortunately the king would hear none of it and retorted promptly, "let me tell you something about elves, Faramir. If you should ever become the obsession of one, there is no place on this earth you could hide where he would not find you. For Legolas, this is equally so. He has spent that the last three millennia hunting and killing every dark thing that lived in Mirkwood as a pastime. When I first met him, he was hunting spiders for the lack of anything better to do, Trust me, if he sets his mind to finding the Easterlings who committed the massacre of Lebethron, I do not doubt he will find them."

  


 

  


For a long moment, Faramir did not speak as they rode through the wooded track towards Lebethron. The sun had disappeared past the mountains of Ephel Dúath and the blanket of night made them seem sinister instead of benign. When Sauron still ruled, the mountains felt like an extension of the dark lord’s evil that seemed to creep towards Gondor and the other kingdoms of Middle earth. Even now, long after Sauron’s presence was driven from the world completely, they still appeared like dark behemoths, inching closer to stake a claim on what their master was unable to conquer. 

  


 

  


"Perhaps we should let Legolas find them Aragorn," Faramir spoke finally, unleashing the thoughts that had been building up inside his head during the long pause. 

  


 

  


"What do you mean?" Aragorn stared at the Prince.

  


 

  


"If the destruction of Lebethron is as terribly as we fear, with every man, woman and child brutally murdered, why should we kerb Legolas’ outrage? My own is no less than his and I share his disgust at what has happened. Those people deserve justice," Faramir retorted. "If Legolas is capable of tracking those who were responsible for the murder of those innocents, should we stop him?"

  


 

  


Aragorn drew in a deep breath and turned his gaze away from Faramir as he sought the words to answer. It was a good minute before he was able to respond. 

  


 

  


"Faramir, I am no less angry at what has happened to Lebethron then you or Legolas," Aragorn declared meeting Faramir’s gaze as he began speaking, "you are right, the folk whose lives were taken so unjustly should be avenged and if it were my choice, I would hunt them down by Legolas side and make every last one of them pay for each life that was taken but I _cannot_. I cannot make such a choice because I am king and as king, my thoughts cannot simply be about vengeance or justice, it must be about the kingdom."

  


 

  


"I know," Faramir replied, having heard the argument before, though not as passionately stated. 

  


 

  


However, Aragorn was far from finished with his declaration and continued to speak, his voice showing how deeply he was affected by what had happened and how difficult it was to do nothing when so many had lost their lives.

  


 

  


"As much as I would have Legolas as my ally in this war, Eden Ardhon sits too far away from Gondor or Ithilien to be defended with any kind of effectiveness. It is vulnerable to attack by the Haradrim and from any number of Easterling tribes. He is my friend and I love him dearly but he is not Elrond who was capable of protecting Imladris from Sauron using the power of the Ford of Bruinen. Everything we fear about the elves would _only_ take place if Eden Ardhon were destroyed and I cherish Legolas and his colony too much to gamble with its existence in such a manner."

  


 

  


It was true, Faramir admitted begrudgingly. The elves would either become involved in the war or be incited into leaving Middle earth forever if Eden Ardhon were destroyed. With the enemy keeping its movements through their territory a secret, it was difficult to deploy their own armies with any certainty and until that changed, Faramir could understand Aragorn’s need for caution.

  


 

  


"You are right of course," Faramir shrugged in reluctant agreement. "However, I for one would like to see them pay for what they did."

  


 

  


"They will," Aragorn returned with a voice so cold that it send shudders through Faramir’s skin. "They will pay for it when we meet in battle. I thought to make peace with them but the destruction of Lebethron has hardened my heart. If it is war they want, it is war they will have."

  


 

  


***********

  


 

  


For Melia, the destruction of Lebethron was embodied in its entirety in the face of the young child she had taken into her home. 

  


 

  


The child had become Melia’s responsibility since her arrival in Eden Ardhon and the former Ranger took on the role of surrogate mother like a she-wolf protecting her young cub. It was difficult not to feel disposed in such a manner towards the child when Melia had only to look upon the despairing face of the little girl to feel this relentless need to protect her. As it was, the lady of Eden Ardhon was wholly outraged by Lebethron’s fate and worse yet, by what the child must have surely witnessed. There was no doubt in Melia’s mind that the girl had seen the attack in all its savagery. There could be no other explanation as to why she had retreated so completely into a well of grief.

  


 

  


For the first day, the child would do nothing but cling to her. Even when she set the child down from her arms, the girl gripped her hand and followed her almost everywhere. However, what was most disconcerting was her silence. She did not speak and had no wish to despite Melia’s best efforts to coax a name from her. In the end, the Ranger decided that the child would speak when she was ready and she was clearly not ready as of yet. 

  


 

  


The elves however, were fascinated by the child and showed her kindness but the girl was still too afraid to know what to make of them. They understood that she had suffered a terrible ordeal and thus kept their distance though for many of them, seeing a child was a rare experience. There were no children at Eden Ardhon mostly because elves preferred to parent early on in their lives and most had already done so prior to arriving at the colony. Melia and Legolas had never truly spoken about children even though Melia knew she wanted to be a mother some day. The girl’s presence in her life seemed to convince Melia that she would be a good mother. She knew elves could control when they conceived a child and was rather comforted by the fact that a child born to Legolas and her could make the choice of living a mortal or an immortal life. 

  


 

  


Melia made up her mind to speak to Legolas about this when he returned home from Lebethron. While she remained cloistered away with duties of her own as the Lady of Eden Ardhon, Melia could not deny wishing that she were able to join him. More and more, she felt the threat of war pulling at the part of her that was once a Ranger and the need to do something more than being the good wife at home seemed sometimes overwhelming. 

  


 

  


During the War of the Ring, she had aided in some of the battles that had been wrought throughout Middle earth, particularly in Angmar where she had aided the Dunedain and the local militia in driving out Sauron’s forces. While not in the thick of the greater battles of the war, Melia had nonetheless been blooded. It was her service during the war that had led to her becoming one of the new Rangers that Aragorn wished to roam the wilds as he one had, gathering intelligence on the state of his kingdom and the lands surrounding it.

  


 

  


She was a Ranger and it appeared now more than ever, Rangers were desperately needed. The irony of it was that she was the most qualified to infiltrate the Easterling ranks because she could easily pass for one of them. In her travelling clothes, it was easy to become mistaken for a man since no male of the Haradrim or the Easterling Confederacy would ever think it possibly that a woman was capable of passing herself as a man without their noticing it. Unfortunately, she would never know for certain because her duties as wife of the Lord of Eden Ardhon required her to wage a different kind of battle. Despite Legolas’ decision to heed Aragorn’s plea for Eden Ardhon to maintain its neutrality, Melia felt her loyalties divided. She did not wish any harm to befall her husband’s race but she also felt compelled to defend the people whom she considered her own against the ones who actually were. 

  


 

  


How could she feel any differently when she was confronted with what had happened to the little girl whose life was suddenly her responsibility?

  


 

  


Melia pondered these things as she sat in the parlour of the home she and Legolas were building for themselves since their marriage. It was by no means palatial as was befitting a former Prince of Mirkwood but rather comfortable in Melia’s opinion. Eden Ardhon was built beneath the canopy of trees in the great forests of South Ithilien and the elves had established their colony so that it would be a part of the wood not intruders upon it. In keeping with this tradition, the homes built within Eden Ardhon were built with the needs of its individual resident. 

  


 

  


The home that Melia and Legolas occupied was the largest in Eden Ardhon mostly because he was its lord. When completed, it would be large enough to entertain royal guests however it would not be so grand that any of the wood would be sacrificed for its construction. Legolas was after all, a woodland elf. He cherished the forests and would do no harm to it. His desire was to build a place not unlike that of Lothlorien. Melia had never seen the city of the Golden Wood but she had heard the stories of the realm occupied once by lord Celeborn and the legendary Lady Galadriel. She knew that if Eden Ardhon could achieve even the least bit of resemblance to Lothlorien then it would be a blessing indeed.

  


 

  


Melia sat at the table with her crossbow, her hands moving deftly over the smooth wood end to ensure the weapon was in good working order. She kept a vigil in maintaining it even though she did not use it as often as she would like. During her time as a Ranger of Angmar, the weapon had been her constant ally as was her horse Lomelindi. The mare spent most of her time grazing these days although Melia rode it often enough, she sometimes craved for the wilds that had been her home for so many years. Melia made herself a promise to ask of the King and Lord Faramir, how they dealt with such feelings. After all, they were once Rangers themselves. If any being could feel empathy with her situation, it was those two men.

  


 

  


Melia was so deep in thought that upon looking up, she saw the girl staring at her with wide-eyed terror. In particular, the crossbow that Melia was tending to with such reverence. Her gaze shifted swiftly from the weapon to Melia in a heartbeat and the expression of horror on her face melted into disbelief and betrayal. Melia could not fathom the loathing in her eyes and stood up abruptly to approach the child. However, the only survivor of Lebethron had no intention of allowing Melia to touch her and upon seeing the lady’s approach, promptly bolted away like a frightened animal. 

  


 

  


For an instant, Melia was at a loss to explain her behaviour until she came to the realisation that what she was been holding in her hand was an Easterling weapon, a weapon the child would no doubt have seen slaughter the inhabitants of her village and possibly her parents as well. Melia cursed under her breath at her own foolishness and immediately gave chase. As she hurried down the hall, Melia heard the distant sound of door slamming hard. She followed the fading noise until she arrived at the main door and descended the steps into the walkway beyond the house.

  


 

  


Melia’s eyes scanned the trees and saw no sign of the child. The little girl was small and capable of hiding very well it seemed. The only people Melia could see where the elves going about their daily business with the building of the colony. Miriel and Vienne, two elven ladies from East Lorien were walking towards the river and paused when they caught sight of Melia. Since becoming wife to their lord, Melia had come to know many of the women who resided in Eden Ardhon. While some still regarded her with strained tolerance since she had never been forgiven for the audacity of being human and ensnaring the heart of their prince, they were others like Miriel and Vienne who were willing to accept her because Legolas loved her. 

  


 

  


Miriel and Melia had struck something of a friendship during Melia’s first visit to Lorien with Legolas. Though she looked Melia’s age, Miriel was almost two thousand years old and had been one of Galadriel’s attendants. During the brief interlude when the Fellowship had entered Lothlorien following the death of Gandalf the Grey, Miriel had assisted Galadriel in the ceremony where Legolas and the fellowship had been presented with the gifts for their journey. Vienne was a woodland elf. She had lived in the court of Thranduil for most of her life, which was to say, at least a number of centuries. Vienne, who had long red hair like a wave of russet, had journey to Eden Ardhon so that she could remain at the side of her beloved Nunuar.

  


 

  


"My lady, are you looking for the little one?" Miriel asked, venturing a guess that the concern on Melia’s face was due to the scene she and Vienne had witnessed but a moment ago.

  


 

  


"Yes!" Melia nodded, "have you seen her?" 

  


 

  


"She was running towards the river," Vienne replied quickly, sensing Melia’s agitation. "What has happened?"

  


 

  


"I am a fool!" Melia exclaimed without hesitation. "I was tending to my crossbow when she saw me."

  


 

  


"That is hardly a grievous sin my lady," Miriel stared at her in puzzlement. 

  


 

  


"It is an Easterling weapon," Melia said hurrying towards the river with Miriel and Vienne keeping pace with her. "I cannot imagine what the child must be thinking after seeing her entire village decimated by Easterlings who no doubt carried a weapon very much like my crossbow. She looked at me with such betrayal, as if I had some part in Lebethron’s destruction."

  


 

  


"I am certain that is untrue," Miriel said gently. "She was just startled, that is all."

  


 

  


"I should have known better," Melia declared not about to exonerate her actions. "What was I thinking acting so foolishly?"

  


 

  


"Melia, it is not your fault," Vienne spoke with just as much compassion. "You could not know how she would react."

  


 

  


However, Melia could not be convinced that she had not acted foolishly. They arrive at the waters of the River Porous and swept their gaze over the breathtaking vista. Melia searched the trees and hoped that the child had not done anything so foolish like trying to cross the river. She was so little that the thought of her making such an attempt struck cold fear into Melia’s heart. Fortunately, her elvish companions had far greater senses that she could ever imagine and she felt Miriel tap her on the shoulder and gesture to a large piece of log lying near the banks of the river. 

  


 

  


Melia glanced at it in question before catching sight of a sliver of colour from fabric lodged in the hollow of the fallen tree. She gave Miriel a grateful smile and bade the elven ladies to remain where they were as she approached the young girl’s hiding place. Melia considered what she would say to the child and knew that the girl probably felt that Melia had betrayed her trust somewhat. There was only one way that Melia could think of regaining it and that was using the only weapon that could destroy deception in any form, the truth. 

  


 

  


"I know you are there," Melia announced herself as she approached the log stealthily and saw that the child was indeed hidden inside its hollows. 

  


 

  


The girl did not respond except as to press herself more deeply into her hiding place.

  


 

  


Melia swallowed deeply but knew she had to keep trying to reach her. 

  


 

  


"I am an Easterling," Melia confessed first and foremost in her ordeal of truth, "I was born in the same place as the people who hurt your family and your home. I make no excuse for it except to say that I am not like them. I would never hurt innocents the way you and your family were harmed. I came here a long time ago from the east because I wanted another life, one where I could be what I was without having to fear. I know you think that because I carry the same weapon as they do, I am one of them. I do not blame you for being frightened. You have right to be angry and afraid for what they did to you but I am not them and I don’t want to hurt you. I only want to help you."

  


 

  


The child did not speak and Melia’s felt a knife slicing her heart with the silence that followed her impassioned plea. She did not wish to be despised by the little waif she had come to care for since Aloin had folded back his cloak and revealed her to Melia. However, if the child was this afraid of her because of her Easterling origins, Melia would not force the girl to remain with her. If she cared for the child, Melia would have to let her go.

  


 

  


"You do not have to stay with me any more, I understand if you want to be somewhere else. There are any number of elves in Eden Ardhon that would love to have you in their company. This place is like that, we care about each other and if it makes you feel better to be somewhere else, I will see that it happens little one."

  


 

  


"Anna." A soft voice escaped the log into the air.

  


 

  


Melia blinked. "Is that your name?"

  


 

  


The child rose from her hiding place before staring at Melia, eyes filled with tears as she nodded slowly, "papa said he named me after Yavanna, the lady who planted the seed so it could grow into the sun but everyone calls me Anna."

  


 

  


"Anna," Melia smiled warmly, relief swelling her heart at Anna’s first words. "It is a pretty name. My mother named me after a lady as well, only her name was Melian. I guess both our names are borrowed a little."

  


 

  


"I hid when they came," she said dropping her gaze to the dirt at Melia’s feet. "I heard them making the ground shake and I got scared so I hid."

  


 

  


"It probably saved your life," Melia commented, coming closer towards her. 

  


 

  


"No," she shook her head. "Papa and mama couldn’t find me. They were looking for me instead of running away. They should have run away!"

  


 

  


Melia swept the girl into her arms as Anna began to weep. 

  


 

  


"Hush," she cooed softly in the child’s ear, not needing to hear anymore because it was clear what had taken place without Anna needing to explain. Her parents were probably killed in front of her because they were frantically searching for their missing daughter, thinking nothing of their own safety when their child’s was in doubt. It was what any parent would do and for that, they were killed mercilessly in front of the daughter they had been trying to save. 

  


 

  


"You are safe here Anna," Melia whispered softly as she cradled the girl in her embrace. "I promise you, I will let nothing harm you here. In Eden Ardhon, we are safe from the men who hurt your parents. _You_ are safe."

  


 

  


However even as Melia said it, she knew that it was a dangerous promise to make.

  


 

  


*************

  


 

  


 

  


He did not know how much longer he could maintain his strength.

  


 

  


The man had been on foot for several days now, moving swiftly over the terrain at such speed that he knew it was more than dangerous. He was no fledgling lost in the wood but a Ranger who patrolled the lands of Lebenin. A chance journey down the River Sirith had led to an unexpected encounter and now he had to reach Eden Ardhon at all costs. He would have made his way towards Minas Tirith but that path was barred to him and to escape with what he knew, he was forced to take another route. He prayed that he had maintained his anonymity, that they had not seen him bear witness to what they intended.

  


 

  


His best hope was to reach the elven colony of Eden Ardhon and enlist the aid of its lord in sending a message to Emyn Arnen, informing the Steward of what he had discovered. The elves had horses and were capable of closing the distance between themselves and Emyn Arnen in enough time to issue the grave intelligence he had unwittingly acquired on the banks of the Sirith River. Even now, he had trouble believing what he had seen even though the truth of it froze his heart within his chest. The Rangers had been anticipating trouble since the declaration of war by the Easterling Confederacy had been made but not even they had realised how swiftly the enemy was capable of mobilizing or how much they truly hated the people of the Reunified Kingdom.

  


 

  


At first, he was uncertain of what he had seen. A flotilla of strange ships bearing no resemblance to anything he had seen before made its way down the Sirith in the dead of night. The Sirith was nowhere as wide or deep as the Anduin so a fleet as the one that had attempted to besiege Pelargir was incapable of journeying its waters. However, the vessels he spied were not ocean going vessels nor where they comprised of numerous decks that would require a deep harbour. If he were forced to describe them, he would call them raft like, using sails and many oarsmen to navigate the waters. 

  


 

  


He followed them for most of the night and learnt that they were moving swiftly up river, towards the White Mountains. He was puzzled at their destination for the fiefdoms of Lebenin were small and unimportant and these men did not look like traders. However, when they broke their journey in the light of day and hid themselves until the twilight hours, the Ranger realised that the travellers were Haradrim and there were enough vessels to facilitate an army. 

  


 

  


He fled before discovery, armed with intelligence that upon further reflection, told him just how grave the situation was. True, the shield of the White Mountains protected the White City from attack. However, the fiefdom of Lossarnach was plum ripe for the picking. He knew that the attack upon the Reunified Kingdom was anticipated from the eastern shore and that other Rangers were watching the Harad Road. However, the reasoning behind the journey along the Sirith proved that the enemy were also aware of this fact. 

  


 

  


Entering the Sirith, the fleet of ships had avoided detection at Pelargir as they continued their journey northward during the twilight hours, careful to remain unseen as they made their way up river. With the attention of Gondor’s forces and its allies fixed upon the Harad Road and the mountains of Ephel Dúath, there was no reason for the enemy to be detected until they reached Lossarnach. 

  


 

  


Lossarnach was one of the oldest fiefdoms of Gondor, a land of flowery vale ruled by good King Forlong who had died at the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Forlong had left no heirs and since the king had fallen in defence of White City, a steward had been appointed to rule the land in the wake of his death. Lossarnach was a place often visited by the nobles of Gondor as a summer place because of its inherent beauty and had very little in the way of military might. During the War of the Ring, they had only been able to spare two hundred men and when these were lost, had none to replace them. Since many of fiefdoms now looked to Gondor for protection, Lossarnach was virtually defenceless.

  


 

  


An attack upon Lossarnach would be nothing less than devastating for the Reunified Kingdom but of supreme value to the Haradrim should they capture it. From Lossarnach, they could establish a beachhead from which to launch a more savage attack upon Minas Tirith itself or become so entrenched that it would taken all the might of Gondor to dislodge them, might which was needed to defend the rest of the kingdom. It was a cunning plan that hinged upon the secrecy of the Haradrim approach to Lossarnach.

  


 

  


The Ranger had been pushing himself harder than he had ever pushed himself before. Since his discovery, he had been moving across the land at a relentless pace, allowing nothing to stop them. He knew that King Elessar had sent many troops to Ithilien, preparing for the expected attack upon Emyn Arnen. Those forces however, would have to be diverted immediately if Lossarnach was to be saved. He honestly did not know if they had time enough to reach the vale in time.

  


 

  


************

  


 

  


They said the dead could not speak but in the Dead Marshes, the Wainriders who had taken refuge in the fetid marshland swore they could hear the dead warriors of their race whispering in the dark. From the time of Eamil and the Battle of the Camp to the more recent carnage during the war of the Ring, the voices of the dead cried out for vengeance amidst the murky fog and spitting rain. It was as if the souls who had perished were bound to the swampland when they had fallen. For many years, those who had not succumbed to the perils of the marsh believed that the quest for revenge was a pointless exercise, none believed that they could ever possess the power to rise up against the enemy once more.

  


 

  


However, the alliance had changed all this. Not since the attack upon the old kings of Gondor had there been such solidarity amongst them now that they were preparing to launch themselves upon the Reunified Kingdom in battle. The alliance comprised of almost all the races that had been wronged by Gondor in the War of the Ring and even if many of them were factions split from their own nations. It did not matter. United, they were a force to be reckoned. 

  


 

  


Even the races of the Black Speech, who dwelt in the caverns of Moria, had been enlisted in their cause and were now were preparing their own offensive with the assistance of the Dunlendings and the Easterling agents who were providing leadership against the Rohirrim. The Haradrim were pushing hard towards Lossarnach while the Easterling had their own orders to hold back and wait. The general in command of all these armies had planned his assault well and had ensured that enough disinformation was carried to the Gondorian king through his Rangers to ensure that the commanders of the Westernesse would be uncertain of where the actual attack would come. 

  


 

  


And the Wainriders had their own orders as they were joined by more of their brethren from Rhovanian and had become a sizeable force laying in wait in part of Middle earth that no one thought capable of sustaining life. The Dead Marsh was perhaps the most inhospitable place in Middle earth, save Mordor itself. The Rangers had thought it too desolate for any creature to willingly remain there and had failed to keep a close eye upon the region. It also aided in their anonymity that most believed the Wainriders had perished in the marsh during the War of the Ring. 

  


  


It was because of this belief the Wainriders were able to make their way south through the mountains of Ephel Dúath. It did not matter if the Rangers caught sight of them because there were other forces already in place, ensuring that when the time came much of Emyn Arnen’s forces would be diverted elsewhere. The strength of Gondor had always been in its allies and the leader of the Easterling Confederacy understood this all too well. The strategy of their campaign was not in meeting Gondor in open confrontation but to cut the strength from under its feet. 

  


 

  


Before they brought the Reunified Kingdom to its knees, they would first see to it that King Elessar knew he was very much alone.

  


 

  


**************

  


 

  


  


 

  


His had been one of many faces that marched home to Harad in defeat following the destruction of the Sauron’s Ring and the subsequent vanquishing of the dark lord from the realm of Middle earth for all time. He remembered well the despair felt by the men he had led and those who knew that it was not simply a war that had been lost but their entire way of life. As most of their captains were killed in the war against Gondor, he had been promoted quickly to fill in the command structure that was severely depleted. However, it was clear that the days of warfare for the Haradrim were over. The will to fight had died with Sauron.

  


 

  


Turning inward to their own affairs brought home the stark reality of their situation. So much of their lives were dedicated to war and extorting food supplies from surrounding fiefdoms that were incapable of stopping them because of their military might and fear of the Dark One in Mordor. Now that he was driven away forever and much of the Haradrim’s strength was lying dead on the battlefields of the war, coercion was no longer possible and the food supplies came to a grinding halt. The Haradrim made some effort to take up the industry of large scale farming but such an enterprise would take time and they did not have enough to spare before wide spread starvation became a reality.

  


  
  
Turning to their neighbours, the Haradrim learnt that the Easterlings and Corsairs were faced with similar troubles and it exacerbated their hatred even more when there was talk of unparalleled prosperity in the Reunified Kingdom, the source of all their misery. Even more painful was when the Gondorian King made offer of grain in exchange for a treaty of peace. The Haradrim leader Ulfrain seemed to accept this exchange willingly enough though there were whispers that he had a secret agenda of his own. It was a secret that was not revealed until their most respected general returned home with the body of their king and claimed that Ulfrain had to die because of his alliance with shape shifters.

  


 

  


He did not disagree that Castigliari had done right by killing Ulfrain if he had entered such an alliance for being slave to another dark lord did not appeal to the Haradrim or the Easterlings very much and Ulfrain had gone to Gondor speaking for the Confederacy. What he did take offence with as did the rest of the leaders who heard Castigliari’s speech was the unconditional surrendering of their national pride to Gondor, to accept the aid of King Elessar and enter a treaty with the Reunified Kingdom. Whether or not Castigiliari deserved death was something he had no power to change and the general had gone to his death with honour, head held high as he had always done so when riding into battle. 

  


 

  


Ulfrain left no heirs which was one of the reasons why the throne was laid at his feet. Prior to Ulfrain’s death, he was a lesser noble with almost no chance of securing the throne but his links to Ulfrain and Ulfang the Black were undeniable. He was of the royal bloodline. They gave him the throne and were pleased that their choice was not some pampered young prince, but rather a season soldier of the field. Once in place, he knew what had to be done. Since the end of the war and his subsequent return home to find his land facing a new crisis, the solution had always been clear.

  


 

  


War.

  


 

  


If they were to survive, it had to be war. However, he was not so foolish as to repeat the mistakes of the past. To win, they had to move carefully. Elessar’s reclaiming of the Gondorian throne from the line of Stewards had ensured that he had the allegiance of almost every Westernesse fief in Middle earth. Fiefdoms that had remained separate from Gondor suddenly rallied to Minas Tirith with the return of the king. From Dol Amroth, to Lossarnach, he doubted that any king was as beloved as Elessar. With Ithilien and the Rohirrim ready to protect Minas Tirith at any cost, there was also the possibility of an elven involvement since it was well known that Elessar was raised by the elves and had even taken one as his queen. 

  


 

  


Thus he took steps to ensure that the elves did not become involve and though it would require more extreme measures then the butchering of one small village, he was confident that when the lesson was inflicted, the elves would withdraw completely from the conflict. The elves often considered themselves above it all, that they were untouchable. 

  


 

  


Danallar of Harad had every intention of showing them how wrong they were.

  


 

  


***********

  


 

  


  
When Anna had finally revealed to Melia as best as could be told by a seven year old the destruction of Lebethron, the lady of Eden Ardhon set her down for a nap. The little girl who had poured out her heart in a most emotionally charged narrative, was more than happy to rest as she had wept almost as much as she had spoken. As Melia feared, Anna had seen the death of her parents under the stampeding charge of the mumakils being ridden by the Easterlings. It disturbed Melia that there was an Easterling army no more than a few days journey away from Eden Ardhon. She supposed that it was fortunate that Legolas had chosen to take the King’s advice to maintain their neutrality until the Easterlings were confident that they had no intention of participating in the conflict and moved on. 
  
  
Melia left the house with the intention of resuming some of her duties as Lady of Eden Ardhon when she suddenly noticed a commotion involving Aloin and two elves escorting a man into the heart of the colony. As Melia picked up her skirts and hastened her pace to meet them, she saw that the man had a familiar face. He appeared exhausted and a little older from when she last beheld him but it was without doubt the same man.
  
  
"Handor?" Melia asked with no small measure of surprise. "Is that you?"
  
  
"Melia!" The man looked up and a swell of relief flooded his face at her presence. "I am glad to find you here."
  
  
"Find you?" Aloin looked at him dubiously. "My lady, _we_ found this man stumbling about our wood like a lost child and you will afford the Lady Melia, the proper respect due the wife of our Lord." Aloin warned Handor.
  
  
Melia tried to stifle a smile as Handor gave Aloin a dark look before turning to Melia, "please Mel…my lady," Handor corrected himself and resumed again, "you know me. I come here at the greatest urgency seeking your assistance."
  
  
By now, a small gathering of elves had come to observe the excitement and Melia met Aloin’s gaze.   
  
"Release him. I know this man, his name is Handor and he is a Ranger. We encountered each other in Angmar. I can assure you, he is a man to be trusted."
  
  
Aloin’s frown deepened, however he took Melia at her word and gestured to his men to obey her request to release Handor.
  
  
"Now what is it that is so important that you would attempt to enter an elven city without invitation?" Melia asked once Handor found himself no longer a prisoner.
  
  
"Not more than five days ago, I saw a fleet of ships moving up the River Sirith," Handor wasted no time with the details of what he had seen and got to the meat of it. "They were cautious enough to travel by night and rest by day to avoid being seen. My lady, there was enough of them for an army and they travel the river with such speed that I do not think they were the first. I believe they were bound for Lossarnach."
  
  
"Lossarnach?" Melia exclaimed with horror. "Are you certain?" 
  
  
"Yes," Handor nodded. "I remained with them as long as I could, until I could determine their plans but I dared not linger too long for I know what I had learnt was too important to be lost. I am certain that they plan to take Lossarnach."
  
  
Melia thought quickly and saw the same realisation crossing the faces of Aloin and the rest of the guards under his command. From Lossarnach, the Haradrim would be in perfect position to launch an assault upon Minas Tirith.
  
  
"Aloin," Melia said after a moment. "You must ride immediately to Emyn Arnen and warn them that an attack upon Lossarnach is eminent."
  
  
"But Prince Faramir is meeting Lord Legolas is in Lebethron," Aloin pointed out.
  
  
"That is true," Melia agreed. "However his army and that of Gondor’s is in Ithilien expecting an attack from the east, not the west. If the Haradrim take Lossarnach, they could entrench themselves there for an further assault upon any number of Gondorian fiefdoms, not to mention the White City itself."
  
  
"We should also send word to Lebethron," Aloin added, agreeing with Melia’s assessment of the situation. "Endornórë, you will go to Lebethron and inform them of what we have learnt here. With good fortune, we can prevent this news from becoming tragedy."
  
  
As the elves prepared themselves to ride, Melia prayed that their actions would not be seen by the enemy as a break in their neutrality or else the preventing of one tragedy could very well result in another.
  


  



	4. Chapter Three:  The Harvest of Disinformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed a bold plan, an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war.Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose.

THE FIELD OF BATTLEChapter Three:  
The Harvest of Disinformation  
  
The sombre business of burying the dead of Lebethron was a deed done when  
Aragorn and Faramir arrived finally in the ruined village some days later. They  
found Legolas’ camp a short distance away from the town proper, surrounded by  
the trees that would now remain unharvested since those who cared for them had  
met tragic ends. When the men of Gondor joined the lord of Eden Ardhon at his  
encampment, their mood was no better than his. The devastation they were forced  
to witness as they took the road through Lebethron had left as deep an  
impression in their minds as it had upon Legolas. Fortunately they could claim  
that they had not seen the worst of it since they had been spared the horror of  
burying bodies.  
  
The mark of it was left clearly upon Legolas. When Aragorn cast eyes upon his  
old friend with the campsite where he and the rest of his company from Eden  
Ardhon awaited Aragorn’s arrival, the king could see the deaths of Lebethron’s  
people preyed heavily upon the heart of the elf. It was easy to mistake  
Legolas as being aloof and dispassionate to the plight of others because he kept  
his emotions hidden beneath the enigmatic façade worn by all elves. However,  
Aragorn and those who knew him well knew just how deeply he felt things and how  
outraged the destruction of Lebethron must have left him.  
  
After journeying through Lebethron and seeing for himself, the savage brutality  
of the Easterlings who had committed the terrible act of murder upon its  
innocents, Aragorn confessed to similar outrage. All the things that had  
inspired Legolas’ animosity and fierce desire to fight had also stoked a  
white-hot flame within Aragorn’s heart as he saw the remnants of the village in  
the wake of the enemy’s barbarism. It would have been close to harvest he had  
thought during the silent odyssey through the ruined village. It should have  
been a time of plenty and joy, not the terrible events that followed. They were  
his people! They looked to Gondor to protect them but Gondor and its king had  
failed them.  
  
Under different circumstances, their greeting would have been joyous but this  
was not the occasion for such levity. The old companions greeted each other with  
warm salutations as was their custom upon seeing each other but their mood was  
heavy with unspoken despair at Lebethron’s fate. The question of what was to be  
done could wait for a time as Legolas showed Aragorn and Faramir the final  
resting place of Lebethron’s folk. They had been unable to do anything except  
place the bodies in one grave since neither the elves nor Gimli knew the names  
of all that had perished.  
  
After the sombre duty was done, they returned to the campsite as the sun was  
beginning to disappear beneath the wood. The other elves in Legolas’ party had  
prepared a meal and the old friends gathered around the campfire as the daylight  
dwindled around them to break bread. Pregnant in all their minds was how this  
situation was to be dealt with. As Aragorn looked across the fire at Legolas,  
the elf’s pale skin was bathed in the amber light of flame that seemed to fit  
his mood. The king could tell what was on Legolas’ mind as he met the elf’s dark  
eyes.  
  
“This must be answered for Aragorn,” Legolas broke the silence at last.  
  
“Not by you or Eden Ardhon,” Aragorn returned firmly.  
  
“You cannot expect to let them get away with this!” Gimli burst forth with less  
restraint. “You did not see the dead Aragorn, you did not the savagery of what  
was done to them. If this is allowed to go unanswered, the enemy will take it  
as leave to commit this brutality again!”  
  
“There will be justice,” Faramir spoke in a far calmer voice because he could  
see that Aragorn was barely able to contain his own outrage at what had  
happened, the wound salted further by their own witness of the destruction.  
“However, vengeance will accomplish us nothing.”  
  
“Aragorn,” Legolas returned. “They did this to warn away my involvement. These  
people are dead because of Eden Ardhon!.”  
  
“No,” Aragorn broke in sharply. “These people are dead because we are at war,  
not because of you or your people. What I asked of you in Gondor when the first  
declaration of war was made still holds, you cannot become embroiled in this  
affair.”  
  
“Eden Ardhon can protect itself, we have the lay of the forest to hide us.”  
Legolas retorted. “They will not dare attack an elven colony without fear of  
inciting the anger of the rest of my people.”  
  
Aragorn stared at Legolas in some measure of shock, “did you not understand the  
content of their warning? It was to show you that they would attack Eden Ardhon  
in the same manner if you interfere. Legolas please,” Aragorn calmed himself.  
“Lord Elrond once told Gandalf that the time of elves in this land is done. He  
was right Legolas, one day you and your people will sail over the sea and not  
look back upon Middle earth. It will be up to men to determine the course of the  
future and for us to be able to do that we must fight our own battles. I do not  
wish Eden Ardhon harmed because of this conflict but neither do I want the  
situation worsened. It pains me to say this but your involvement in our war  
could make you a liability we cannot afford to have.”  
  
His words inspired pain. Aragorn could see the hurt surface briefly in the elf’s  
eyes before quickly being crushed into oblivion once again. Aragorn felt a stab  
of regret in his heart knowing his words had hurt the elf but he could see no  
other way of making Legolas understand. However, even as he achieved his desired  
goal, the king of Gondor had seen that it had come with a price.  
  
“As you will,” Legolas said quietly, rising to his feet, “King of Gondor.”  
  
With that he walked away, leaving the three alone.  
  
Aragorn was tempted to go after Legolas, to explain himself a little better but  
he sensed that the elf wanted to be alone and would remain so if he did not wish  
to be found. He met Faramir’s gaze and knew immediately that the Steward was not  
in complete agreement with what he had just said to the lord of Eden Ardhon.  
However, Faramir had become accustomed to holding his tongue and making his  
objections to any policy that Aragorn made in private. It was the conditioning  
of being the second of Denethor’s sons. Unfortunately, Gimli was not so capable  
of masking his feelings.  
  
“How could you say that to him?” Gimli demanded with unhidden anger.  
  
“It was necessary,” Aragorn replied. “I did it for his own good.”  
  
“How dare you be so presumptuous as to tell an elf what is for his own good?”  
Gimli glowered. “He has lived longer than all of us put together and I do  
believe that makes him qualified to judge what is and isn’t good for him! He  
remains here in Middle earth because he cares about his friends and you just  
threw that loyalty back his face!”  
  
“He cannot protect Eden Ardhon the way Elrond protected Imlardis Master Gimli,”  
Aragorn barked back feeling his own temper inspired by the guilt of Legolas’  
reaction. “While he is at our side, fighting our war, who protects his people? I  
rather have his feelings hurt now that have him return from a campaign fighting  
the Confederacy to find his city in ruins and his people dead!”  
  
“That is his choice to make,” the dwarf argued. “Not yours. You have known him  
the longest, do you think he would sit by idly and allow his friends do battle  
while he remains safely hidden. Do not be too certain that this war of yours  
will be as easily won as you imagine. You may yet need Legolas’ aid.”  
  
“It is precisely because I do not think this war easily won that I wish Legolas  
to maintain his neutrality in all this. The Haradrim have been rallying allies  
from all quarters. I believe they are amassing an army equal to the size of what  
we faced during the war with Sauron. When the attack comes, I cannot waste  
valuable resources attempting to protect Eden Ardhon should Legolas allow it to  
become a target.”  
  
“Enough,” Faramir finally spoke up before tempers flared beyond either to  
control, “this matter is not to be resolve tonight. We are all tired. I think we  
should let alone this issue until our wits are not so frayed.”  
  
Aragorn was no longer listening. His gaze had shifted into the darkness for he  
had heard the approach of a rider on horseback. Years of living in the wild  
had sharpened his hearing and though Faramir and Gimli had yet to hear the new  
arrival, Aragorn was certain they were about to have a visitor. The former  
Ranger rose to his feet, ensnaring the attention of his companions.  
  
“Someone is here,” he announced as he drew away from the fire.  
  
The elves with Legolas returned from their patrol, probably sensing the approach  
as well. Legolas emerged from the trees where Aragorn had no doubt the elf’s  
keen hearing had heard the discussion between Gimli and himself. There was no  
trace of the pain he had caused Legolas earlier but Aragorn was certain that it  
was not far from the elf’s mind, despite Legolas’ impassive mask.  
  
“Who is it?” Aragorn asked as the shape of the rider appeared through the trees.  
  
“It is Endornórë,” Nunaur announced first.  
  
“Endornórë?” Legolas declared with surprise. “We left him at Eden Ardhon. What  
could bring him here?”  
  
Those who were present did not venture a guess but surmised that it must have  
been a matter of great importance for the elf to undertake such a journey to  
reach his lord. Aragorn however, feared that they had made a fatal  
miscalculation and that the Easterlings had attacked Eden Ardhon, despite the  
warning it had issued to Legolas. As the elf dismounted his horse and hurried  
towards them, Aragorn prayed that his suspicions were wrong because if Endornórë  
was here with such news then it was already too late for Eden Ardhon.  
  
“Endornórë!” Legolas called out as the elf reached them. “What are you doing  
here?”  
  
“My lord!” Endornórë bowed his head slightly as he greeted Legolas, “I come  
bearing grave news from home.”  
  
“What has happened?” The prince demanded fearful that the possibility that  
preyed so heavily upon Aragorn’s mind had come to pass. Instinctively, he  
thought of Melia and the elves that had become like family to him since the  
establishment of his colony in South Ithilien. The very idea that some terrible  
harm might have befallen them tightened the heart in his chest and threatened to  
force the air from his lungs in sheer panic.  
  
“We found a Ranger attempting to reach Eden Ardhon,” Endornórë explained,  
sensing that his lord was fearing the worst. Even though his news would provide  
Legolas no comfort, Endornórë wanted to allay his fears that Eden Ardhon was not  
in danger.  
  
The mention of a Ranger produced an immediate reaction from Aragorn, whose  
concerns were already spiralling out of control. Like everyone present, Aragorn  
knew that only a matter of utmost urgency could force any elf to make the long  
journey from Eden Ardhon to reach them.  
  
“A Ranger?” Aragorn stepped forward. He could not imagine why a Ranger with  
important news would make for Eden Ardhon instead of Gondor and was eager to  
hear more.  
  
“Explain yourself!” he barked even though the only one present with leave to  
command Endornórë was Legolas. However, the Lord of Eden Ardhon understood  
Aragorn’s concerns and took no offence since he knew Aragorn had good reason for  
demanding a speedy answer.  
  
“He arrived the day after you had departed Lord Legolas,” Endornórë began  
addressing Legolas instead of Aragorn, despite the king’s demand. “We found him  
attempting to enter our borders and brought him to the colony. He revealed to us  
that his name is Handor.”  
  
“I know Handor,” Aragorn replied, the memory of the man in question surfacing in  
his mind. He was one of the more seasoned Rangers in the king’s service. “He was  
once of Angmar I believe. Was Melia was able to confirm this?”  
  
“Yes,” Endornórë nodded. “She did say that she knew him.”  
  
“So what is it that brought him to Eden Ardhon?” Faramir asked abruptly, more  
interested in knowing the content of the Ranger’s news rather than the  
confirmation of his identity.  
  
“The Ranger claims to have seen a convoy of ships moving up the River Sirith,”  
Endornórë answered promptly. “He thinks that they are Haradrim and their  
destination may be the lands of Lossarnach. Lady Melia thought it was best that  
it best that the king be told immediately. She insisted that both Aloin and I  
set out from Eden Ardhon at once to find you. We parted company when he took  
the road to Emyn Arnen.”  
  
For an instant, no one spoke. Words were difficult to form when such an  
impossible situation faced them. However, the momentary pause was brief and soon  
their voices were cascading over one another, struggling to be heard.  
  
“That’s impossible,” Faramir exclaimed first, his voice revealing his disbelief.  
“The Sirith is not a deep river, ships large enough to carry an army cannot sail  
through its waters.”  
  
Aragorn was nowhere that sceptical. His mind was already searching the ways in  
which the impossible might very well be the truth. There were many types of  
sailing vessels and though Gondor had access to the sea, it was not really a  
seafaring nation. The same could not be said for the Haradrim and the  
Easterlings who relied greatly on the sea for their trade with each other as  
well as the distant Sunlands. It was very possible that they might possess  
sailing craft capable of navigating the waters of the Sirith.  
  
  
“Handor claims that the enemy were sailing on ships he had never seen before.  
They appeared to need oarsmen and resembled barges or large rafts.”  
  
“Oarsmen,” Aragorn nodded, having heard of ships that did not rely upon the wind  
to move. If this were the case, then the crafts presently making its way up the  
Sirith did not need sails or a long keel to direct itself. “Did they stop  
frequently?” He asked quickly, hoping that Endornórë had the answers he needed.  
  
“Yes,” the elf nodded quickly. “The Ranger claims they journeyed by night and  
rested by day.”  
  
It was as Aragorn feared. The king turned immediately to Faramir, no longer any  
doubt in his mind that they were faced with an impending crisis. He had the  
utmost faith in his Rangers and if one of them had taken the swifter route from  
the Sirith to Eden Ardhon in order to save valuable time in delivering the news  
to his king, then Aragorn was not about to dismiss his efforts “We do not have a  
great deal of time,” Aragorn said to his Steward. “Faramir, you are to ride  
immediately to our armies at Ithilien and have them march to Lossarnach. Melia’s  
foresight will ensure that they will be ready to march when you arrive. How long  
ago did Handor see these Haradrim?”  
  
“Five days,” Endornórë replied grimly. “They were almost nearing the end of the  
Sirith when he left them to reach us.”  
  
“Then they could already be marching towards Lossarnach,” Aragorn determined. “I  
will ride to Lossarnach to warn its people of what is coming and prepare the  
fortifications for the city. You will bring the army from Ithilien.”  
  
“You should not be going to Ithilien,” Faramir pointed out. “We do not know for  
certain how close the enemy is to Lossarnach, if we are late, you may find  
yourself trapped behind enemy lines.”  
  
“Lossarnach will not become enemy lines,” Aragorn retorted, his jaw clenching in  
anger at the mere possibility. “I will die before I allow that to happen.”

”With all due respect, that is precisely what I do not wish,” Faramir returned  
with just as much determination. As Steward, his duty was not merely to Gondor  
but also to his king. “Our war effort will be crippled severely if any harm were  
to befall you. I must insist that you allow me to go to Lossarnach.”  
  
“Faramir, I do not have time to debate this with you,” Aragorn declared,  
starting to get increasingly annoyed at the younger man’s insistence.  
  
“We will go with him,” Legolas interrupted before the discussion became any  
more heated than it already was.  
  
Aragorn turned sharply to Legolas, “Legolas, you cannot. If you ride to  
Lossarnach at my side, you will be committing your people to war.”  
  
“Aragorn,” Legolas looked at him with equal impatience. “You know as well as I  
that most of Lossarnach’s warriors perished during the War of the Ring. They  
have at best a scant military presence and the Haradrim legions that will be  
falling upon the vale are seasoned veterans. Local militia cannot stand up to  
them. You will need to hold Lossarnach until Faramir arrives with Gondor’s  
forces and you will need to do so with what few veterans are at your disposal  
there. I will not allow you to face such peril alone. As Lord of Eden Ardhon, I  
can do little to aid your conflict but as your friend, I can keep you from  
getting yourself killed. I do not think I would be committing the elves to war  
if I stood at your side on this one occasion.”  
  
Aragorn was not so certain but he knew that there was very little he could do to  
change Legolas’ mind when the elf was so determined. Legolas’ stubborn  
countenance told Aragorn that he would have better chance moving the Argonath  
single-handedly then he would of convincing Legolas to withdraw.  
  
“Please listen to him,” Faramir pleaded, satisfied with that much if he could  
not convince Aragorn to turn from this ill advised course. “If you intend on  
doing this thing then at least use what advantage you have.”  
  
“Especially when you have no choice in the matter,” Gimli added his voice in and  
he was even more intractable on the issue than Legolas. “You need us Aragorn,  
admit it.”  
  
He did need them. Aragon could not deny that fact despite his reservations about  
Legolas accompanying him to Lossarnach. As things stood, it would be a race  
against time to reach Lossarnach before the arrival of the Haradrim and Legolas  
was absolutely correct. During the War of the Ring, Lossarnach had lost many of  
its soldiers in the defence of Minas Tirith. With the defeat of Sauron, there  
had be little need to rebuild a sizeable army when the fiefdom could look to  
Gondor for protection. Unfortunately, no one had anticipated the Haradrim  
attacking Lossarnach from the direction of the Sirith and this lack of foresight  
had left the fief wide open to its enemies.  
  
“I do need you,” Aragorn confessed, “I cannot deny that. If the Haradrim take  
Lossarnach, they will have a formidable base from which to wage a prolonged war  
against us. I have no choice but to accept your aid to ensure this does not  
happen. However, I fear the consequences that will result from this.”  
  
Legolas stared at Nunaur and Endornórë, aware that the consequences that worried  
Aragorn so would be suffered by the elves should it come to pass. He saw the  
understanding in their eyes and knew that they did not wish to cower in fear of  
what could happen when they were needed now.  
  
“We know the choice we make Aragorn and we stand with you,” Legolas replied  
finally, “this time at least.”  
  
“As do we with you my lord,” Nunuar added returning Legolas’ gaze. “We will not  
abandon the Elfstone in his hour of need.”  
  
Aragorn took a deep breath, grateful for their desire to help and realising at  
that moment that what would happen would do so because it was Fate’s decision to  
allow it, not his. At the moment, he had more immediate concerns to occupy his  
mind and that was to reach Lossarnach before it suffered the same destruction as  
Lebethron.  
  
**********  
  
The bleak landscape that skirted the fringes of the White Mountains stared back  
at Eomer with complete indifference, even though hidden its thick canopy of  
trees and grey mists were tribes of men whose feelings were anything but  
impartial. For Eomer, this was just another chapter in the continuing enmity  
between the Rohirrim and the Dunlendings. While most of the tribes were now  
supplicant to Rohan following the War of the Ring, Eomer knew that he would gain  
very little assistance from the Dunlendings in hunting down their rogue brothers  
who were thought to have formed an alliance with the Easterling Confederacy.  
  
The dislike between the two nations had continued for centuries, the most recent  
show of aggression being the Dunlendings alliance with the traitor of Isengard.  
Held by the sway of Saruman the White, the Dunlendings had allied themselves  
with the Istar’s Uruk-Hai army to launch an all out assault upon Rohan. At the  
battle of Helm’s Deep, the Rohirrim would have been defeated if not for the  
unexpected assistance of the Huorns of Fangborn. Fighting alongside of one of  
Middle earth’s oldest races, they had destroyed the Dunlending threat once and  
for all and retook Isengard from Saruman.  
  
Since the War of the Ring, all had been peaceful. Despite their capitulation,  
Eomer had sought not to lord the Rohirrim victory over the Dunlendings, hoping  
to engender some kind of friendship between the old rivals. While this was far  
from being achieved, Eomer had hoped that they were no longer the blood enemies  
of old. Unfortunately, the recent declaration of war with the Easterling  
Confederacy had proved that he had been wrong about a great many things.  
  
Eomer had been aware that some Dunlending tribes were distasteful of the notion  
of any kind of peace with the Rohirrim and had disappeared into the wilds of the  
Misty Mountains rather than to live under the yoke of Rohan. While they  
remained in the wilderness causing little mischief to the people of Rohan, Eomer  
was content to leave them be. Unfortunately, the advent of war had given these  
tribes an new ally. Agents of the Easterling Confederacy had spread throughout  
the region and had apparently given the rogue tribes a reason to emerge from  
their self imposed exile.  
  
With the possibility that Edoras was under threat, Eomer was not about to wait  
for the enemy to strike. Leaving the Golden Hall behind, the King of the  
Mark led the Rohirrim towards the Gap of Rohan where a sighting of Dunlendings  
was reported in the mountains of Ered Nimrais. The Dunlendings preferred to  
remain in their own territories or in the foothills of the Misty Mountain, that  
they were within the borders of Rohan convinced Eomer they were about to make a  
move against the Rohirrim. If the Dunlendings wanted war then Eomer would be  
happy to oblige them but he was not going to give the pleasure of choosing the  
field of battle.  
  
For almost a week, Bowen, Eomer’s trusted Marshall of the Mark had been tracking  
a group of rogue Dunlendings on the fringes of the White Mountains, waiting  
patiently in secret as more tribes arrived from Dunland and joined their outcast  
brethren. Bowen suspected and Eomer agreed, that the Dunlendings would make for  
Edoras to strike at the heart of Rohan once their ranks were at their full  
complement. Their actions seemed sensible despite their dangerous plan of  
attack when one considered the Dunlendings larger goal. An assault upon the  
Golden Hall would result in the recall of the Rohirrim presently at Ithilien.  
The removal of the cavalry would fracture the military alliance between Gondor  
and Rohan and weaken the defences at Ithilien.  
  
Night was falling fast and Eomer hoped to reach the rendezvous point he and  
Bowen had agreed upon when the marshal had first sent him the message in Edoras  
that he had located the Dunlendings camp. The crescent moon had risen high in  
the night sky and he knew that many of his men were uneasy about moving through  
such unfamiliar landscape in the darkness. The Rohirrim preferred open terrain  
instead of the cloistered confinement of the mountain foothills they found  
themselves traversing on this occasion. Outcrops of large boulders and rocks,  
coupled with looming trees made it difficult to gauge distance or enemies  
approaching.  
  
The horses too were becoming increasingly unsettled. Eomer’s own steed,  
Rochallor, named after the great steed that had belonging to Fingolfin, had  
ridden with him through many battles. As one of the legendary breed of horses  
called the mearas, Rochallor was not easily frightened. Yet on this occasion,  
Eomer could sense an almost human reluctance in the animal to continue their  
journey any further. Glancing at the other riders at his side, Eomer noticed  
that the anxiety was not exclusive to his mount. Other horses were becoming  
increasingly agitated and Eomer knew that if the horses were anxious, then there  
was good reason to fear.  
  
“Sire, something is a foot,” Carleon, Third Marshall of the Mark and holder of  
the title that was once Eomer’s, nudged his horse alongside his king and  
remarked with eyes scouring the darkness. He studied it with such depth that  
Eomer could have been mistaken for believing he was capable of seeing in the  
darkness like an elf.  
  
“I know,” Eomer nodded in agreement. “However I do not wish to turn away before  
we find Bowen and the others. If something is wrong, they may be in need of our  
assistance.”  
  
“It may already be too late,” Carleon pointed out.  
  
Eomer said nothing but continued to lead his men deeper into the foothills.  
However, the Rohirrim moved with caution, keeping as close an eye upon their  
swords as they did upon the uncertain road ahead. Eomer was starting to fear the  
worst about Bowen as the agitation of the animals increased with the shadow of  
the mountain looming higher over their heads. As they neared their rendezvous  
point, Eomer searched for evidence of Bowen’s army in the distance and saw  
nothing that would indicate their presence. There were no voices being carried  
upon the wind, no smell of food cooking or glowing fires. Where there should  
have been signs of life there was only overwhelming darkness.  
  
Something was wrong.  
  
Eomer could feel it in his bones and it was far worse than any of them  
suspected. With each second that passed, producing no sign of their comrades,  
Eomer grew more convinced that something terrible had befallen the Marshall of  
Riddermark and his men. When the horses began neighing in protest at their  
continued advancement towards the appointed meeting place, Eomer had decided  
that he could no longer ignore the animals’ keen sense that trouble was near.  
  
“We will go no further,” Eomer told Carleon who nodded in agreement with his  
king that the air was so thick with sinister possibility that it could be sliced  
through with the blade. “We will withdraw into open country and begin our search  
for Bowen at dawn’s light.”  
  
“I will give our men the order,” Carleon replied somewhat relieved. Like his  
king, the third marshal had serious doubts about their rendezvous with Bowen  
since they ought to have sighted his encampment by now. Bowen’s absence,  
particularly after the curious reaction of the horses, was met with grave  
concerns for their own well being as those present feared that they may be  
riding into the same misfortune that befallen their missing brethren.  
  
When Carleon noticed the worried expression on his king’s face, the marshal made  
some effort to allay Eomer’s fears. “Perhaps they were delayed,” he offered,  
aware that it was a foolish hope at best.  
  
“Perhaps,” Eomer returned shortly, “however I do not believe so. Such  
possibilities are too improbable these days. However I will not assume the worst  
just yet. When the sun rises tomorrow, we will seek them out and if they are  
alive still, we find them. If they are harmed then not even Ered Nimrais will be  
able to hide the Dunlendings from my wrath.”  
The order was issued through the ranks of the Rohirrim who did not much like the  
notion of retreating when in all likelihood that the Rohirrim under the command  
of Bowen had come to hard at the hands of the Dunlendings. However, the  
prevailing darkness was almost a pitch black curtain around them and while they  
could see the faint outline of the mountains and the crescent moon in the sky,  
there was very little of their immediate surroundings they could make out except  
to discern that they were at a disadvantage. The riders halted in their advance  
to begin the journey back to safer terrain when suddenly, the silence was broken  
by the sound of drums beating with slow resonance. The percussive sound was more  
eerie then it was deafening but it was not that which Eomer noticed so much.  
  
It was the realisation that the drums were all around them.  
  
Eomer tensed, remembering the stories told by Gimli during the dwarf’s visits to  
Edoras on route to his home of Aglarond, in particular the tale of the  
Fellowship’s journey through the mines of Moria.  
  
“Goblins!” Eomer shouted before he could even think to consider if what he was  
claiming was possible.  
  
Whether or not it was possible, no sooner than he uttered the word, a phalanx of  
arrows escaped their bows and sailed through the air. Their flight through the  
air was audible above the steady beat of the goblin drums but the sound lingered  
for only as long as the arrows took to reach their mark. Very soon a different  
sound filled their ears as the enemy emerged from the darkness and attacked.  
Arrows met flesh, drawing out screams of pain amidst the war cry made in Black  
Speech. He could hear the alarm moving swiftly through the ranks of his men as  
he tried desperately to be heard over the chaos.  
  
The goblins were emerging from the darkness amidst the pounding of drums and  
Eomer heard the unsheathing of swords and the voice of his men as they defended  
themselves. His concerns for his men were forgotten momentarily when across the  
rocks, a dark shape moved swiftly towards him. Eomer removed his sword from its  
scabbard; trying to still Rochallor’s excitement while at the same time swining  
his weapon at the approaching enemy. The blade struck flesh as the goblin  
lunged at the king, its cry like the sound of screeching birds when Eomer sunk  
his sword deep into the creature.

Blood spurted across Eomer’s armour as the horse pulled away from the grisly  
scene and the would be assassin tumbled away into the dirt beneath the steed’s  
feet Eomer turned to his men and found that they too were locked in a life and  
death struggle with the goblins who had obviously lain in wait for them. As the  
king battled more attackers, a fleeting thought crossed his mind at what had  
become of Bowen and the Rohirrim with him. Had they fallen prey to the same  
ruse?  
  
Eomer staved away another attack when suddenly, an arrow shrouded in darkness  
and silenced by the pandemonium around him, slammed into the king’s shoulder,  
invading the crack between his breast plate and his shoulder guard to pierce his  
skin and toppled him from the saddle. The king landed heavily on the cold  
ground, uttering a cry of pain when he landed upon his wounded shoulder, the  
arrow driving deeper into his flesh. His sword fell away from his grip and its  
loss sent panic through Eomer as he scrambled to retrieve it. However, the enemy  
could smell his injury in the same manner that hyenas know one of their own is  
wounded. Eomer saw the misshapen silhouette of three goblin men closing in on  
him, their bared teeth gleaming in the faint glimmer of the moon.  
  
Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Eomer forced himself to his knees and flung  
his dagger at the nearest enemy. A scream of pain told the king that his blade  
had met its mark and he could see the hilt lodge deeply in the goblin’s thigh.  
He growled in pain at Eomer as one of his companions swung an axe at the King of  
the Mark. Eomer leapt out of the way as the heavy blade sunk into the ground.  
His escape however did not save him from the attack of the third goblin that  
kicked him hard. Eomer spun as he felt ribs crack as he landed hard on the  
ground, the pain searing through him. However, it was never wise to enrage a  
Rohirrim and in his anger, the king was capable of proving how deadly he was.  
  
Tearing the arrow from his shoulder and producing a surge of pain that would  
have made even the strongest flinch, Eomer cried out as the bloodied projectile  
escaped his flesh. The goblin advanced to attack but Eomer’s pain and adrenalin  
had made him fast. The king stopped the advanced, spearing the bloodied arrow  
through the goblin’s eye, as the sharp point ended the threat of him with  
chilling finality.  
  
The other two had recovered from his aggressive defence and were now rushing  
towards him. Eomer took a step back and suddenly felt his heel of his foot brush  
against hard metal. Realization dawned upon him instantly and the king dropped  
immediately, wrapping his fist around the hilt of his fallen sword. Swinging  
hard, he tore open the belly of the first, causing a spray of black blood in all  
directions. The goblin screeched in a pain and Eomer rose to his full height  
with sword in hand as the last member of the ill fated triumvirate made its bid  
for a king’s head. Unfortunately, it was a bid that cost him his own as Eomer’s  
blade made sliced cleanly though his neck.  
  
The battle was by no means over but the king still lived and while he lived,  
there was no defeat.  
  
************

 

  
There was no time to spare.  
  
They did not even wait until sunrise to begin the journey to Lossarnach once  
Endornórë had brought his grave news to the camp at Lebethron. Lingering long  
enough to gather their belongings and discard what was not needed since the  
horses needed to travel fast and could not be burdened by too much weight, the  
king and his companions set out for Lossarnach in what was literally a race  
against time. Faramir rode with them for as long as he could but he needed to  
make for Ithilien with just as much haste for there would be no victory for  
anyone if Gondor’s armies were unable to reach Lossarnach in time to defend her  
against the impending Haradrim attack.  
  
Although Aragorn would have preferred to ride until there was not a breath in  
his body, he was forced to concede that pauses in their journey was necessary  
for the sake of the horses. Riding hard with the Anduin on one side of them and  
the mountains of Ephel Duath on the other, the riders could feel the weight of  
urgency pursuing them with unrelenting persistence. Aragorn wished he had  
Gandalf’s wisdom for he needed the sensibilities of a wizard in the game his  
enemy was playing with him. Although he did not speak of it to his friends of  
Fellowship or even Faramir before the Steward continued towards Emyn Arnen, it  
was a game that Aragorn was losing. He had measured his enemies by the  
contemporaries he had faced in previous battles and it was proving to be a fatal  
mistake.  
  
His enemy knew him.  
  
Perhaps not in the way his friends or loved ones knew him but the leader of the  
Easterling Confederacy knew with whom he had to match his wits while Aragorn did  
not have that advantage. He knew nothing of this elusive man that none of his  
Rangers had been able to see and unfortunately, Aragorn could not claim similar  
anonymity. His deeds and his fame was spread far and wide, to almost mythic  
proportions. Certainly it was so in the Reunified Kingdom and while the enemy  
lands may not view his accomplishments as acts of heroism, they knew enough to  
discern what sort of warrior he was and what kind of commander he was on the  
battlefield. He was a captain that relied heavily upon intelligence to plan his  
strategy. In being too cautious and learning all that he could of his enemy by  
using his Rangers, Aragorn saw the flaw in his methods. Intelligence could be  
falsified and it appeared that was exactly what the enemy had done. He had been  
fed disinformation and thus allowed himself to be bent like a reed in the wind  
by the clever lies his opponent was able to leave in his way.  
  
Lies had been planted for his benefit and Aragorn had foolishly harvested all of  
it.  
  
The truth was, he had been tricked into believing that the Easterlings were  
about to attack one way when in fact what they were doing was scattering  
themselves across the length and breath of the kingdom, using old enemies whose  
enmity for the Reunified was still fresh after the War of the Ring. Hatred  
simmering under the humiliation of defeat was easy to provoke, especially when  
enlisted with promises of glory that had been stolen when a hobbit with more  
courage than anyone could possibly believe, destroyed Sauron far more  
effectively than any army in Middle earth.  
  
Aragorn could see how it was managed. Sauron had resided in his dark tower of  
Baradur, issuing orders of the lesser beings under his command, demanding that  
they help him with promises of spoils beyond the dreams of avarice in return for  
victory. The Easterling leader did not have to demand, he merely had to ask and  
remind them of their earlier defeats. Wisely, he had used to his advantage there  
were some things of greater value to a people, than the spoils of war.  
  
There was pride.  
  
These were the times when Aragorn wished Boromir was here because Boromir had  
the ability to say with words what no one could manage, not even Legolas or  
Arwen. The man of Gondor had a way of looking at things that often stripped away  
pretensions and trivialities, leaving only the truth in all its naked reality.  
For eighty years Aragorn had wandered the wilds, taken many names to build the  
knowledge and experience that would make him king and none of it had been as  
worthwhile to the cause as knowing Denethor’s oldest son. Knowing Boromir had  
taught Aragorn what it was to be burdened by responsibility, to wear it like a  
chain around the neck in an ever-tightening noose that would only become more  
weighted as time went by.  
  
Pride himself as he might that the sway of the ring never ensnared him as it did  
Boromir, he could not say that he was a better man than Boromir. Even as  
Isildur’s heir, Aragorn never felt the crushing weight of responsibility that  
had been bred into Boromir by his father to make Gondor prosperous. It would  
have broken lesser men and had it been him, Aragorn could not say he would have  
acted any differently than Boromir when faced with the possibility that the One  
Ring could save everything he held dear.

If Boromir were here now, Aragorn could imagine what he would say.  
  
Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with it, Gondor needs you to be king  
not because you are Isildur’s heir but because you are the only one who can save  
her!  
  
He had to stop thinking like a king. He had to start thinking like the man who  
had led the Nine Walkers to Mordor, the wanderer who bade the dead to keep their  
oaths and the heir who had shown Sauron the sword that had taken his ring.  
Aragorn had underestimated his enemy just as Sauron had underestimated a hobbit.  
He had been slow to move, a king playing with his toy soldiers across the floor,  
with no understanding of the battle other than the one he played in his head. No  
more.  
  
The Easterling Confederacy had their chance at peace and wasted it as they had  
laid waste to Lebethron.  
  
Even if a king had to die to prevent it, no enemy army was going to claim  
Lossarnach as their prize.  
  
*************  
  
  
Aragorn’s first duty upon arriving in Lossarnach was to sent scouts away from  
the vale to find the exact whereabouts of the Haradrim force that could not be  
more than a few days away from Lossarnach by this point in time. Owing to the  
secrecy of the invasion force reported by Haldor, Aragorn surmised that the army  
was moving by night and taking shelter during the day. Fortunately, travel  
across the river ensured that the Haradrim were unable to bring their fearsome  
mumakils. Unfortunately, Aragorn could not discount the possibility that the  
threat existed. The beasts had destroyed Lebethron. While it did not seem  
possible that the Easterling army could have journeyed across land swiftly  
enough to join their Haradrim allies, Aragorn was not about to take such a  
gamble when the stakes were so high.  
  
Messengers were also sent to Minas Tirith, ordering the remaining troops in the  
city to make immediately for Lossarnach. Though the complement remaining in the  
White City was not nearly enough to defeat the invasion force that Handor had  
described, the reinforcements to Lossarnach meagre defences would aid in keeping  
the Haradrim at bay until Faramir arrived with the rest of Gondor’s army. After  
the death of Forlong the Fat, a lesser relative had been given stewardship of  
the city. The young man, named Fernreg, had been more than equal to the task but  
his interest had been in rebuilding the city rather than replenishing the ranks  
of militia that had been lost during the defence of Minas Tirith and the Battle  
of Pelennor Fields.  
  
Lossarnach had always been a place for vacationing nobles. Situated in a valley  
surrounded by the White Mountains, Lossarnach was known for its breathtaking  
landscapes. Its countryside was filled with the castles and summer residences of  
Gondor’s high born and it was even claimed that Denethor and his young bride  
Finduilas had spent their honeymoon in Lossarnach. However, aside from its  
aesthetic beauty, the protection of the White Mountains around Lossarnach  
ensured that it was protected from turbulent weather, an advantage that brought  
great harvests of wheat and corn to the region. Lossarnach was responsible for  
the production of much of the grain that was exported to Minas Tirith.  
  
Aragorn sensed that it was for this reason that the Haradrim wanted to take the  
city. If they succeeded in conquering Lossarnach, the enemy would not only have  
a suitable platform to launch an assault upon the White City and the rest of  
Gondor but also enough food to feed its army for an indefinite occupation. With  
this in mind, there was a desperate measure he could resort to if they were  
unable to hold Lossarnach and Aragorn prayed it would not come to that. In fact,  
he meant to see that they did everything possible to keep from being driven to  
that course of action.  
  
Once the scouts and messengers were sent on their way, Aragorn ordered the  
immediate evacuation of women and children out of the city. A handful of armed  
soldiers ensured that their exodus to Minas Tirith where they would remain until  
the danger had passed. After seeing what the Haradrim had done to the women and  
children of Lebethron, the king of Gondor was taking no chances with his  
people’s lives. Despite the lack of a fully trained army, Lossarnach did possess  
some local militia and though these men spent most of their time as farmers,  
when the call to arms came, they did not hesitate to step forward in the defence  
of king and country.  
  
Fortifying the city became the work of Lossarnach as every conceivable way of  
protecting itself was found and exploited. Walls were quickly built, traps were  
laid, and moats and trenches were dug. Every man who could carry a weapon and  
who knew some battle was enlisted into the cause, not even Fenreg would be  
spared being blooded in the coming conflict. No more than three days had passed  
before the first of the scouts returned and brought the inevitable news.  
  
The Haradrim army was less than two days away.  
  
Gondor’s army at Ithilien would not be able to reach Lossarnach in that time and  
Aragorn was faced with the grim prospect that Lossarnach would some how have to  
prevail until Faramir arrived. It appeared that a siege was inevitable.  
  
Worse news soon arrived from Rohan as such things often did when times were  
particularly trying. King Eomer was facing difficulties of his own and would not  
be able to assist them any further than what he had already provided in the way  
of Rohirrim cavalry that were coming from Ithilien with Faramir. It appeared the  
King of Rohan was missing after travelling to rendezvous with Bowen, the  
Marshall of Riddermark. Edoras had not heard anything of him since he left and  
there were fears that he might have come to harm.  
  
As much as Aragorn wanted to help find his friend, he could not leave Lossarnach  
and prayed that Eomer was capable of extricating himself from his difficulties  
on his own.  
  
*************  
  
As Aragorn continued the labour of preparing Lossarnach for the coming conflict  
with the aid of his friends, the final member of his company who was riding hard  
towards Emyn Arnen with his own task to fulfil. Faramir was painfully aware of  
vital it was for him to bring Gondor’s army to Lossarnach with as much haste as  
humanly possible. Being a son of Denethor, Faramir was possibly in a better  
position to appreciate the danger that a Haradrim invasion could present to  
Gondor. Lossnarch’s position near the heart of Gondor, Minas Tirith, had the  
potential to be a large a morale disaster as well as military one if the  
Haradrim were allowed to take it.  
  
Like Aragorn, he had only paused in his journey to give his horse rest because  
he could not afford to waste any time in reaching Emyn Arnen. There would not  
even be enough time for him to see Eowyn but Faramir knew she would understand.  
Faramir wondered as he rode home whether or not they had come to rely too much  
on the Rangers. He had always admired Aragorn because the king was not merely a  
warrior but a thinker who valued intelligence above his instincts. It was easy  
how that asset could be circumvented into a weakness because they had no idea  
what the enemy intended to do. The Haradrim was making its approach from the  
west, not the east as previously thought and the Easterling who had brought  
about Lebethron’s ruin was nowhere to be found. He knew that during the journey  
to Lossarnach, this had concerned Aragorn greatly.  
  
There were reports of so many enemies joining the Easterling Confederacy and  
Faramir suspected they were facing a war that may not end in a matter of weeks  
but months. The Corsairs were undoubtedly responsible for the Haradrim  
incursion up the Sirith and there were so many other disaffected voices beyond  
the borders of the Reunified Kingdom and the lands of its allies who gladly see  
Gondor fall. Faramir was almost two days away from Emyn Arnen when he saw in the  
distance a sight that filled with his heart with gratitude that they had left  
Prince Imrahil at Ithilien when Aragorn and he had chosen to inspect the  
destruction of Lebethron.  
  
The Lord of Dol Amroth was leading the march with the Rohirrim cavalry provided  
by Eomer and the bulk of Gondor’s forces stationed at Ithilien, no doubt having  
received the same message that had sent Aragorn and the rest of the company  
riding to Lossarnach. Imrahil was not one to wait until orders arrived, he knew  
his king well enough to act on his behalf and that knowledge told him that time  
was of the essence. Once Aragorn received the message delivered to him by the  
elves of Eden Ardhon, the king would be making his way to claim his army.  
Imrahil knew that he would be saving valuable time if he could meet Aragorn part  
of the way.  
  
“Where is the king?” Imrahil asked once Faramir had returned to their ranks.  
  
“On his way to Lossarnach,” Faramir explained, “he has gone to fortify the city  
before our arrival.”  
  
“Was that wise?” The lord of Dol Amroth stared at Faramir, unable to hide his  
anxiousness at this.  
  
“Wise has little to do with the king’s actions,” Faramir retorted scowling,  
“someone has to warn Lossarnach and you know him, he will not ask of anyone what  
he is unwilling to do himself.”  
  
Imrahil frowned unhappily, “there are times when I wished he was not so damned  
mindful of his people and take precautions against his own life.”  
  
“I think that accounts for why the people love him so,” Faramir replied and  
though he did not mention that those people included himself and Imrahil, it was  
without question the truth for both of them.  
  
“I do not know how much he will be able to do at Lossarnach, that boy Fenreg has  
little in the way of military experience and has spent scant time protecting the  
city,” Imrahil returned.  
  
“There was no need,” Faramir shrugged, seeing no fault in Fenreg who was a  
likeable enough ruler. “He assumed as did most of the smaller fiefdoms that  
Gondor would be able to protect them. No one suspected that the enemy would come  
from the Sirith.”  
  
“I suppose,” Imrahil looked away and Faramir knew his distant relative enough to  
see that there was something more than their current situation preying upon his  
thoughts.  
  
“Imrahil,” Faramir urged. “What is it?”  
  
“I have heard troubling news from Rohan,” Imrahil confessed after a brief pause.  
The older man looked annoyed that his fears showed. “It appears that Eomer has  
gone missing in battle.”  
  
“Missing?” The Prince of Ithilien exclaimed, fearful for his brother in law’s  
life and how his wife would take the news if he were lost. “Does Eowyn know?”  
  
“No,” Imrahil shook his head. “The intelligence came to me first and I saw no  
reason to trouble her until we were certain that missing meant dead. Also if I  
were to let it known that their king was in difficulty, the Rohirrim cavalry  
might choose to ride home and we cannot afford their loss at this time.”  
  
Faramir did not know if that was the most ethical thing to do but he kept  
counsel to himself because he could not deny that they needed the cavalry’s  
speed in reaching Lossarnach. Faramir was planning to lead the cavalry ahead to  
Lossarnach, leaving the foot soldiers to Imrahil who would follow behind them.  
Aragorn needed all the support that was available to hold Lossarnach before the  
arrival of those troops. Even if the Rohirrim were to return to Rohan now, they  
would never reach their king in enough time to be of any use to him and Faramir  
had faith in Eomer’s ability to survive.  
  
“I should have brought Lothiriel home,” Imrahil said worriedly. “I was so  
pleased that she had actually taken a liking to Eomer that I did not consider  
the risk to her life.”  
  
“Imrahil,” Faramir placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, “Lothiriel is far  
more capable than you know as she has proved during that business with the shape  
shifters and I doubt the Dunlendings tribes even with Easterling aid is capable  
of taking the Golden Hall”  
  
“I hope you are right,” Imrahil replied, “I do not want to lose my child when  
her life is just beginning.”  
  
As much as Faramir tried to sympathize with Imrahil, he was more concerned over  
Eomer’s fate and how Eowyn would endure it if she learnt that her brother was  
dead.  
  
*************

Legolas stared across the plain.  
  
Behind him was Lossarnach. The sun was setting and while it would seem prudent  
that the enemy wait for morning to attack, there was going to be no such delay.  
They had been waiting for this inevitable approach for the last hour, ensuring  
that all was in readiness. Next to him Aragorn stood with Anduril unsheathed  
like a banner to be carried into battle. Gimli stood on the other side, axe  
brandished. The initial line of defence would fall to the archers and Legolas  
felt the weight of many arrows upon his back. His gaze shifted briefly to Nunaur  
who also poised to attack, as was Endornórë and the other elves that had  
journeyed with him to Eden Ardhon.  
  
If he fell tonight, he hoped Melia would understand that he could not sit by and  
watch Aragorn face this conflict alone. Whether or not this action brought the  
elven nation to war, he could not say for certain. He had brought no army to  
Lossarnach so it could not be seen as ending his neutrality if only a handful of  
elves stood with Aragorn during this battle. In either case, he was not leaving  
until this battle reached its end, no matter how terrible those consequences  
must be. It was good that his wife was a warrior in herself for she understood  
the realities of war and the battles that must be fought for the good of all.  
If he fell today, she would mourn his loss not berate his sacrifice.  
  
There was only silence but the elves could hear the approach, Aragorn was  
certain of it. The scouts had returned a short time ago; bringing the news that  
Haradrim army had paused long enough to establish their encampment but appeared  
hungry for battle. He had estimated correctly that the enemy would not wait  
until sunrise and had issued the call to arms. The militia were perched on  
Lossarnach’s high walls. The reinforcements that had come to the king’s aid from  
Gondor took the field with him before the city. All across Lossarnach, people  
awaited with abated breath for the attack to come.  
  
Aragorn saw Legolas tensing his grip around his bow, the one given to him by  
Galadriel during the quest of the Ring. Further along, Nunaur’s eyes narrowed  
and the posture of the other elves seemed to straighten instinctively, their  
gazes’ fixed front without wavering. Their disposition was noted by the men  
standing with them and taken as a prelude to the enemy’s appearance. Aragorn  
stared ahead at the plain and saw nothing but dark horizon flanked by the jagged  
teeth of the White Mountains.  
  
“This game you two play,” Aragorn found himself asking, breaking the silence,  
“is it only orcs or all races that make up the count?”  
  
“We are not indiscriminate,” Legolas remarked still facing front but his lips  
curled into a little smile as he spoke.  
  
“If I am to play, I must insist that we keep the count confined to this battle,”  
Aragorn retorted. “Otherwise I will not be able to match you or Gimli’s tally.”  
  
“Match mine I think,” Gimli snorted with just as much amusement. “I believe at  
last count, I was winning.”  
  
“I beg to differ,” Legolas returned.  
  
“Gentlemen,” Aragorn said as the Haradrim appeared over the horizon for the  
first time. “The game has begun.”  



	5. Chapter Four: The Siege of Lossarnach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed a bold plan, an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war.Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose.

  
Across the walls of Lossarnach, torches breathed in flame burned liked beacons  
through the night. The crescent moon long since become a full orb, stared down  
across the plain with its starry glow. With the twilight sky filled with stars,  
it could have been considered a beautiful night if not for the rumble of armies  
preparing to converge in the inevitable slaughter of battle. The militia stared  
and watched, their hearts pounding with fear for these were men, until a matter  
of days ago, were concerned largely with ordinary things like harvests, crops  
and family. The notion of war and battles were as distant as the stars  
themselves.  
  
And yet now they stood on the walls of the city, each with they own tasks, each  
terrified beyond their ability to express it despite their willingness to  
participate in the defence of Lossarnach. A man could not be a man if he walked  
away when his king asked his help, especially when that king was Aragorn  
Elessar. The men who stood ready to fight this night were so committed to the  
cause as if Aragorn had spoken to each of them personally and begged their aid  
in holding Lossarnach from their enemies. The spirit of a warrior had been drawn  
reluctantly from deep inside of them and now the hour in which they would either  
live a long life or die tonight was finally at hand.  
  
The Haradrim covered the plain like a swarm of insects. Their advance across the  
plain was slow at first, as if the delay would allow them to gauge the strength  
of the defenders until it was time to charge. The plain before them was almost  
completely covered and it chilled the blood when one could not discern if it was  
so because of the darkness or because the enemy’s numbers were so great where  
one ended and the other began. From the walls surrounding Lossarnach, the army  
of the defenders seemed almost paltry in comparison to the invaders moving  
across the field like a great tide.  
  
Archers stood poised and ready, both on the walls of the city as well as the  
battle field below. When the time came for the latter to retreat, it was the  
former that would cover their withdrawal safely, if such a thing were possible  
in circumstances such as this. That Lossarnach was mostly enclosed by the White  
Mountains was its greatest defence. There was but only one direction, which the  
Haradrim could invade, which was another reason why their march to Lossarnach  
was made with utmost secrecy. Despite the loss of this advantage at the  
knowledge of their impending arrival, their numbers were great enough to  
overcome it.  
  
Beneath the faint glimmer of moonlight, Aragorn could see the tall red banners  
of the Haradrim flying in the slight breeze. The black serpent appeared briefly  
under this light and it was a sight that returned Aragorn immediately to the  
battlefields of Pelennor, where he had last beheld the sight. The Haradrim were  
fierce warriors and like the Orcs, gave no quarter to their enemies in battle.  
They swept forward like a scourge, warriors dressed in bronzed plates of armour,  
their black hair plaited in gold and their faces smeared with paint, almost like  
blood. Their helmets were spiked, much like the spears and the pikes they  
carried. The sharp points of these weapons were like a bed of nails moving  
across the land, flying high with banners of the black of serpent.  
  
The defenders of Lossarnach showed no fear but none were foolish enough to deny  
feeling it. Fear was a healthy thing, it would provide them with enough edge to  
stay alive and at all costs, they had to live for as long as they could, until  
Faramir arrived with Gondor’s army. Aragorn saw the distance between the two  
enemies narrowing and knew that any moment now, the order to charge would be  
given and this interlude where the two forces were given leave to scrutinize  
each other would end.  
  
“Archers!” Aragorn cried out, his gaze never leaving the nearing enemy. “Make  
ready!”  
The Haradrim were so close that Aragorn could now see their faces and the dark  
eyes filled with so much black hatred and cruelty fixing upon the defenders with  
hungry demand. Aragorn held Anduril before him, the sword that cut the ring from  
Sauron’s hand acting as his own banner and one that held more meaning to his men  
than any banner could ever manage.  
  
The Haradrim were also preparing for the onslaught of arrows as their front line  
warriors angled their spears into a deadly phalanx of steel to protect  
themselves. The only way through them, Aragorn realised, as the wall of pikes  
and spears approached, was to attack when they were very close. Unfortunately,  
Aragorn could not count all the archers of having the skill of Legolas and the  
elves, but this course left them very little room to manoeuvre if not enough of  
the front line was killed.  
  
“Aragorn!” Legolas barked as the distance became savagely close. “It must be  
now!”  
  
Aragorn knew that but he had hoped to give the archers a little more advantage.  
Unfortunately, Legolas was right. They had allowed the Haradrim as much distance  
as they dared. Any closer and it may not be possibly to escape when the time  
came for the inevitable retreat. Aragorn did not answer the lord of Eden Ardhon  
but instead continued to stare ahead at the juggernaut rumbling towards them. It  
was a sight that would make men or break them and he felt a swell of pride  
knowing that those fighting with him were holding their ground despite their  
fear.  
  
“NOW!” He gave the order at last.  
  
A wall of arrows almost as deadly as the approaching phalanx flew through the  
air with the release of bowstrings from every archer in the line. The phalanx  
began to waver as the arrows cut down a good number of Haradrim who were leading  
the charge, their spears quivering in their grip and some tumbling into the dirt  
along with their dead masters. The bodies that felt to the ground provided  
suitable obstruction for the warriors following closely behind. Some trampled  
over their dead and others were brought down by the obstacles as another barrage  
of arrows was released and rained death upon them.

The phalanx crumbled effectively enough for the defenders to attack without fear  
of being unable to escape the wall of sharp steel. The archers were firing at  
will now that the space between the two armies had narrowed so much that very  
soon they would be meeting each other. However, as even that narrow margin  
disappeared, the archers were giving up their bows for swords and daggers.  
Legolas had produced his twin blades, while Gimli’s axe awaited the first taste  
of blood. Aragorn held Anduril’s point to the sky in an almost reverential  
gesture to the enemy before the fighting truly began.  
  
The two armies slammed into each other like the smashing of waves against the  
rocks. The earth beneath them seemed to shudder as each roared with their own  
war cry and the sound of voices was drowned in the harsher noise of steel  
meeting steel. From the walls of Lossarnach, the militia watched in rising  
anxiety, as their comrades appeared overwhelmed by the Haradrim horde that was  
swirling around them.  
  
Aragorn lost sight of Legolas and Gimli almost immediately after the two armies  
had converged on the field. There was little time to seek them out because he  
was soon fighting to stay alive. He had not dispensed with the garments he had  
worn when he rode to meet Legolas at Lebethron and was rightly mistaken for  
being just another warrior, not the king of Gondor. The only thing that could  
give away his identity was Anduril but Aragorn knew that in the heat of battle,  
no one would be paying close attention to his sword, only how he wielded it.  
  
How he wielded it was to fight as if he were a Ranger of the wilds, not a king.  
He swung his blade at Haradrim warrior swinging a curved sword at him,  
scimitars, he believed they were called and sent the enemy staggering backward.  
The Haradrim fought with brute force, this much Aragorn had remembered about his  
enemy from his experiences at Pelennor, there was very little finesse to their  
combat.  
  
His present opponent recovered quickly and used the curve of the blade to swing  
a powerful blow at Aragorn. Anduril took the brunt of the strike easily and  
parried skilfully before executing a sharp riposte. As the Haradrim stumbled  
backwards, Aragorn saw another approaching behind him to aid his comrade.  
Aragorn turned his body long enough to spear the man in the dead centre, halting  
his progress in one deadly strike. The warrior fell as Aragorn extracted his  
weapon and swung to meet his other opponent’s attack. As their blades met once  
more, Aragorn forced the enemy backward in a powerful shove and took advantages  
of his loss of balance to strike. Aragorn slashed Anduril across his chest and  
then across tore out his throat in quick succession. The Haradrim sank to his  
knees but Aragorn did not need to see to know he was done for.  
  
From the corner of his vision, he could see another rushing at him. The king  
turned around in time to avoid being speared by a vicious looking spike. The  
Haradrim that would have impaled him was determined to have him however and  
Aragorn knew it would take more than swordplay to stop him. While trying to  
evade the sharp stabs the warrior was attempting to pin him with, Aragorn  
reached for the dagger at secreted in his booth and swung it as the Haradrim  
came at him again. The weapon buried itself deep in the enemy’s skull and  
Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief as the pike fell away from his grip. What  
respite he gained from this victory was temporary because he had only to look up  
to see more waiting to take his opponent’s place.  
  
Searching for Legolas and Gimli, Aragorn could see nothing of his friends though  
he caught sight Eden Ardhon’s captain, Nunaur who was moving with the grace only  
the Eldar were capable. The elf was apparently a good deal better with a sword  
than he was with an arrow and it was evident in the bodies at his feet as he  
battled the Haradrim with something almost akin to relish. As Aragorn found  
himself facing another combatant, the king supposed that the elves were not that  
different from men in that even they were affected by the heat of battle.  
  
*************  
  
The enemy apparently considered elves a great threat for Legolas found himself  
surrounded as the two armies met and the more personal business of combat  
superseded the indifference of arrows and pikes. A trio of Haradrim converged  
upon the elf armed with spears, scimitars and daggers glared at the elf in open  
hatred, preparing to rush him at once. Legolas allowed them to make the first  
move, unwilling to engage in haste. He had faced far more terrifying beasts of  
evil in his time so it took a great deal to unnerve him and he had also learned  
the virtue of patience and allowing the enemy to strike first  
  
He did not have long to wait.  
  
The first, carrying a spike rushed at Legolas and as he stepped out of its cruel  
path, the second swung his scimitar at the prince. Legolas used both of his  
short swords to deflect the blow and kicked out with one foot, forcing the  
Haradrim swordsman back. The third lashed at him with his dagger, his blade  
tearing elven skin across Legolas bicep. The intent was to injure but succeeded  
only in provoking the elf’s anger who swung out one of his swords in a sharp  
swing that sliced open the man’s throat. Legolas used the momentum of the swing  
to spin around as the Haradrim swordsman, recovered from the initial attack  
attempted another strike.  
  
Legolas halted the path of the curved blade with one of his swords, made of  
elven craft and forged steel far denser than anything men could produce. The  
heavy scimitar, requiring two hands to wield it, was stayed in mid air as  
Legolas, who only needed one hand to hold each of his swords, used the other to  
spear the Haradrim soldier through the chest. Blood spurted out of his mouth,  
forced there by his ruined heart. Legolas pulled back, confident that he  
provided no danger and having the last of the trio to deal with. As the thought  
formed into an action, the prince saw the Haradrim running at him, his spear  
jutting ahead. Legolas put away both his sword because it was not swordplay that  
was needed now.  
  
“I will wear your pretty hair on my scalp, elf,” the Haradrim troop hissed. He  
spoke in his native tongue but Legolas had lived long enough to understand some  
of it.  
  
He jab the spear at Legolas in a sharp thrust, which the elf was able to side  
step easily before clenching his fist around the wood as his opponent pulled  
back the weapon for another attempt. Legolas tore the spear out of the  
Haradrim’s grip with both hands and kicked out his foot, first against the back  
of his knee to bring him down and then against the chest to land him flat on his  
back. No sooner than the enemy had landed, Legolas swung the spear in his hands  
with a neat arc and impaled the soldier through the chest with his own weapon.  
The body beneath him jerked spasmodically as a spray of blood splattered across  
Legolas’ tunic.  
  
“Pretty indeed,” Legolas muttered under his breath as he retrieved his swords  
and prepared to face more enemies.  
  
**************  
  
While he had fought them before, Gimli wondered why these Haradrim could not  
channel their aggressive strength with some precision. Though they were fierce  
warriors, they relied too heavily upon brute force and knew nothing about  
skilful battle. It was far different for warriors of Gondor, as he had learnt  
from Boromir and later Faramir. In Gondor, skill was as important as strength.  
Boromir who had been a formidable man physically had used his size to enhance  
his skill on the battlefield and had been a most fearsome opponent on the field.  
Even when he had fallen at Parth Galen, he had done so ensuring that numerous  
Uruk Hai had died first.  
  
The skill of the Gondorian warriors showed as the pitched battle around Gimli  
continued with more and more bodies littering the ground. Fortunately, he was  
relieved to say that most of these fallen appeared to be Haradrim although this  
might simply be because there were more of the enemy then there were of the  
defenders. Gimli himself had been responsible for more than a few of the corpses  
being trampled underfoot by those who continued to fight. The blade of the  
dwarf’s axe was stained with blood as once again, size proved to be little  
hindrance to his ability to hold his own in any battle.  
  
A Haradrim warrior came at him, once again Gimli saw the same look of derision  
as if a dwarf was a lesser opponent. Gimli shirked off the insult because he  
knew that it would be to his advantage and was proven correct when the enemy  
came at him recklessly, swinging his blade over his head towards the dwarf,  
leaving himself wide open for attack. Gimli rushed forward, swinging his axe  
with just as much power only his hastened pace allowed him to escape the reach  
of the sword bearing down on him. Before the blade could be lowered any further,  
Gimli had planted his axe firmly in the stomach of the enemy. The sword fell  
harmlessly to the ground as the Haradrim warrior doubled over in agony, blood  
gushing from the fatal found.  
  
Gimli pulled his weapon out of his opponent and saw another eager to finish what  
his soon to be dead comrade had been unable to accomplish. Unfortunately, this  
enemy was not as presumptuous as the other and when he attacked, he did so with  
care because he had seen how swiftly Gimli had dealt with his predecessor. The  
long pike he carried came rushing at Gimli who had to drop to his fours to avoid  
being speared. The dwarf scrambled across the dirt for a short distance and  
quickly leapt to his feet as the Haradrim warrior spun around to resume his  
attack. Gimli stood his ground with his axe bared, waiting for the right moment  
to strike. The enemy, angered by his audacity to hold his position, hastened his  
pace and as Gimli saw the sharp spike coming towards him, prayed that his gamble  
would succeed.  
  
Within inches of the sharp point, Gimli moved out of the way enough to ensure  
the Haradrim enemy could not turn around with coming to an abrupt halt that  
would throw him off balance. As the length of wood moved past him, Gimli brought  
down his axe upon the weapon and snapped it cleanly in half. Haradrim weapons  
were no match for a dwarf axe and the spike gave way easily. As its master tried  
to regain control of the situation, Gimli swept his axe in a mighty blow that  
drove the air from the enemy’s lungs as well as the life from his body. Letting  
out a breath as the Hardrim died at his feet, Gimli looked across the  
battlefield and saw the endless sea of Haradrim and knew that it would not be  
long before Aragorn would have to call the retreat to the city walls.  
  
As it was, he could not see any of his comrades amidst the fighting but knew  
that all were too hardy to do anything as inconvenient as getting themselves  
killed after surviving enemies such as Saruman, the dark elf Eol and especially  
Sauron. Suddenly his senses came alive with alarm and Gimli turned around to  
see a towering shadow above him. Appearing to Gimli almost as tall as a troll,  
the warrior of the Sunlands looked down upon the dwarf with his dark eyes and  
his even darker skin. There was a split second of time when Gimli felt for the  
first time in his life, terribly small. However, a split second was all the time  
he had before the great hand of the enemy swatted him aside like a fly.  
  
Not since he was running for his life at the hands of the cave troll had he been  
flung away like a child. He landed hard on the ground, shoulder first. The side  
of his body ached in pain but he was allowed no time to dwell on the pain when  
he saw that towering shape before him again. He saw against the sky, the enemy’s  
sword preparing to strike and rolled out of the way as it came down with a  
swoosh of air in the place where he had just been. The blade embedded itself in  
the dirt as Gimli struggled to his feet and struck out wildly, his axe slicing  
into the dark warrior’s thigh. The enemy cried out in pain and then brought down  
his fist against the dwarf’s back, forcing Gimli into the dirt once more.  
  
Gimli felt the pain flare throughout his spine and made his legs difficult to  
move, however, knowing his life depended on it, he rolled over once more and saw  
the enemy preparing to bring down his sword again. This time, there was no time  
to move and all Gimli could do was block the blade against his axe and hoped  
that his underestimation of Haradrim’s weaponry was not mistaken. The axe did  
not yield under the steel of the sword but the power behind it almost made Gimli  
come undone. The warrior grinned at him, pulling back a revelation of white  
teeth, a contrast of colour against the dark lips.  
  
“You fight well little one,” the Haradrim spoke Westron in a soft hiss of a  
voice. “But this contest is done. I had hoped to meet my equal but one of his  
companions will do as well.”  
  
“Little one!” Gimli brought up his foot and kicked hard in the one place that no  
man could call himself truly protected, thought it was an unspoken thing among  
men that it was not a place to assault in civilised combat. Unfortunately, Gimli  
had a greater affection for his skin then anyone rules of chivalry.  
  
The warrior of the Sunlands groaned painfully as he doubled over in pain and  
Gimli pushed him off forcefully. Fired by anger and the sensation of his  
mortality, Gimli prepared to cleave the enemy’s skull apart. However, the dark  
warrior seemed to recover quickly, more so then Gimli would have given him  
credit and raised his sword to block the strike, albeit rather weakly.  
Unfortunately, it did not appear as if he would have the chance to deliver  
another for suddenly he heard the cry of another warrior rushing blindly into  
the path of his weapon and taking the blow meant for the enemy on the ground.  
In surprise, Gimli saw the man’s chest as the blade met skin and turned blood  
and bone into pulp under the crushing power of a dwarf axe.  
  
For a moment, Gimli was stunned at the sacrifice the other had made and when he  
looked again for the dark warrior that had almost taken his life, the dwarf saw  
that he had disappeared.  
  
*************  
  
Aragorn looked around him and saw more and more Haradrim troops crossing over  
the lines, spilling towards the walls of Lossarnach. The battle was going to  
invade the city, there was no doubt of that but Aragorn could control how many  
were left by the time they had to quit the walls. Reaching for the horn at his  
belt, he knew the remaining forces that still lived had t retreat into the city.  
He did not know how many of their number had been lost because the ground was  
covered with bodies and death granted men a certain anonymity, however, he knew  
that they could not linger here to be overrun by the Haradrim who had brought  
with them a sizeable force.  
  
Lifting the horn to his lips, he blew loudly into it. The sound moving across  
the air like a banshee’s wail as a signal to those who had been waiting with  
anticipation as they battled for their lives, to quit the combat currently  
engaged and make for the Lossarnach’s walls. The signal was not just to those  
on the battlefield with him but also to those who were presently manning the  
walls, who had their own tasks to fulfil once the call for retreat came.  
Aragorn sounded the signal again, to ensure everyone heard it before he turned  
on his heels and began running towards the wall where some Haradrim were already  
going. The retreating defenders, ensuring that they would be the only ones  
scaling the walls of Lossarnach, were cutting them down.  
  
As he was running towards the wall, Aragorn saw Fenreg’s body in the ground and  
felt a surge of grief for the young man who had worked so hard to defend his  
city the past few days. There was not even enough time to retrieve the body  
since there was only a narrow margin of time to reach the wall before the  
archers waiting there did their work. If anyone of them survived the night then  
there would be plenty of time for burials, however, the business at hand was to  
ensure that they saw sunrise when it finally arrived. Aragorn searched the faces  
sweeping past him and saw Nunaur making his way across the field with Legolas.  
Both elves were clearly marked by battle but did not appear seriously injured.  
  
Aragorn saw the ladders leading to the top of the wall and the Haradrim that  
were being assaulted with arrows and spears by those who guarding it. Even if  
the signal for the archer’s next wave had yet to be given, a number of them had  
taken the initiative to ensure that none of the Haradrim who penetrated the  
defenders lines could reach the ladders. Those who were not struck down were  
retracing their steps, trying to reach their brethren to take comfort in the  
strength of numbers. One of them swept towards Aragorn, swinging their scimitar  
as they ran forward.  
  
Aragorn met the blade with his own and made swift work of the enemy when he tore  
the sword from his opponent’s hand and ran him through with Anduril. He did not  
even pause in his advance to the wall and saw Gimli not far away. The dwarf was  
clutching his arm and Aragorn averted his course to join his friend.  
  
“You are hurt,” Aragorn declared upon reaching Gimli who had reached the base of  
the wall.  
  
“I will live,” the dwarf grunted. “It is good to see that you are in one piece.”  
  
“There are those wished I was not, that is for sure.” Aragorn said quickly as he  
looked over his shoulder and saw the Haradrim in close pursuit. The defenders  
would not be able to make good their escape unless the Haradrim were delayed and  
with that realisation, Aragorn took to the horn once again and delivered the  
second signal that was meant entirely for the archers perched on the wall. No  
sooner than the baying noise filled everyone’s ears, did the sky become filled  
with arrows flying towards the Haradrim forces rushing against the wall like an  
ocean swell.  
  
“You first my friend,” Aragorn ushered Gimli up the ladder as he looked behind  
him and saw the arrows raining death upon the Haradrim in pursuit.  
  
“You are king,” Gimli grumbled, never one to make any discussion simple. “It  
should be you.”  
  
“I do not have time to argue with you Master Dwarf,” Aragorn retorted and pushed  
Gimli up the rung. “Get moving!”  
  
Gimli muttered something in his native tongue, which Aragorn was certain he  
should not repeat in polite company. However, the proud dwarf had nevertheless  
succumbed to his insistence and had begun scaling the ladder. His progress soon  
indicated to the former Ranger that Aragorn had been right to insist that Gimli  
went first. He was struggling hard to maintain a grip and Aragorn suspected that  
the injury to his shoulder was worse than Gimli would admit too. Unfortunately,  
Aragorn’s healer’s instincts would have to wait for the moment. He sheathed  
Anduril and began his own journey up the ladder, glancing anxiously over his  
shoulder to gauge the progress of the Haradrim advance.  
  
Finally Aragorn reached the top and found that there were others soldiers behind  
him and was grateful that the barrage of arrows was giving them precious time  
reach the top. Unfortunately, the Haradrim were quickly proving that  
Lossarnach’s defenders were not the only ones who knew how to make good use of  
their archers. As Aragorn saw a battle line form in the distance, he was  
suddenly shouting on top of his lungs for anyone on the ground to hasten their  
pace because time was swiftly running out.  
  
“Archers!” Aragorn shouted, trying to capture their attention through the  
pandemonium. “Direct yourselves at the enemy line. They are preparing to shoot  
down our warriors.”  
  
By now Legolas and Nunuar were already on the wall and the elves’ first duty had  
been to acquire more arrows in order to join the throng of bowmen firing with  
all the skill they could muster at the enemy below. Aragorn was uncertain as to  
what had become of the other elves that had chosen to join Legolas in the  
business of protecting Lossarnach but hoped they had not come to harm for this  
was never their fight to begin with. It was their loyalty to Legolas and  
Legolas’ loyalty to him that had placed the elves in this dangerous position.  
  
“Let see your arm?” Aragorn asked Gimli once they were on top of the wall.  
  
Gimli was trying hard to hide the pain of his injury but Aragorn could see by  
the way his arm was hanging limply at his side and the grip that was barely  
managing to keep a hold of his axe that it was overwhelming him.  
“You do not have time to nursemaid me Aragorn,” Gimli replied, loathing his  
weakness.  
  
“No I do not,” Aragorn said abruptly and relieved him of his axe, “but I do not  
need to lose another warrior when we have so few to spare, so let me look at  
your arm and that consider that a command instead of a request.”  
  
“You do not have leave to command me Aragorn,” Gimli retorted but his will to  
argue was half hearted.  
  
“Fine, consider it a threat then,” Aragorn declared and grabbed Gimli’s shoulder  
before snapping it into place and extracting a loud curse from the dwarf.  
Gimli’s teeth were gnashing by the time Aragorn was finished with him but the  
initial pain and the unpleasant sensation of bone against bone soon subsided  
into a dull throb that was somewhat manageable.  
  
“Better?” Aragorn stared at him as Gimli moved his shoulder and was surprised by  
how much less it hurt.  
  
“Considerably,” Gimli said still becoming accustomed to the fact that he was no  
longer in excruciating pain. “What did you do?”  
  
“Dislocated shoulder,” Aragorn remarked. “I merely slipped it back into place.”  
  
“Thank you,” Gimli nodded, retrieving his sword before he stared sharply at  
Aragorn. “The one who did this to me, he called you his equal. At the time, I  
thought he meant swordsmen but whilst I battled him, there was a moment when I  
almost had him. He escaped when another threw himself before my axe to prevent  
it. Aragorn, I think he might have been their leader.”  
  
Aragorn thought quickly and looked down into the Haradrim being cut down by the  
arrows although there were not enough bowmen to prevent all of them from  
advancing towards the wall. He thought of the elusive leader of the Easterling  
Confederacy whose identity was a closely guarded secret that none of his Rangers  
had been able to learn. Was his nemesis down there, commanding this army as he  
was commanding the defenders of Lossarnach?  
  
“Would you recognise him if you saw him again?” Aragorn asked quickly.  
  
“I would but only because he is difficult to miss. He is not a man of Harad or  
Far Harad. I think he comes from the Sunlands.”  
  
“The Sunlands?” Aragorn exclaimed. “You mean like Melia?”  
  
“Melia is not pure blooded,” the dwarf answered shaking his head. “This warrior  
was. He was tall and big. His skin was much darker than Melia’s almost black  
like his eyes. He swept me aside as if I were a child and he was disappointed  
that he was not fighting you, Aragorn.”  
  
“That moment will come soon enough,” Aragorn said coldly, trying to find his  
nemesis in the invaders below and knew that their confrontation would have to  
wait. At present, the game this unseen commander had set in motion was still in  
play and Lossarnach still had a long night ahead of it.  
  
**************  
  
Legolas armed his bow and struck down a Haradrim clambering up the ladder,  
attempting to reach the walls of Lossarnach with the rest of his comrades. The  
arrow speared him through the chest and Legolas barely noticed his fall because  
the elven lord was already reaching for another arrow. As another Haradrim  
hurried up the ladder to take his place, Legolas removed him just as swiftly and  
continued to do so until there were no more. The other archers were also doing  
the same though they were not blessed his speed and some of the Haradrim  
warriors were managing to reach the top of the wall. Fortunately, the militia  
by way of swords, spears and even boiling oil quickly vanquished these.

It continued for hours, this business of keeping the wall clear of the enemy.  
Bowmen fired an inexhaustible supply of arrows into the advancing enemy while  
others employed more direct methods. The bodies of Haradrim were beginning to  
pile the base of the walls for as far as the eyes could see but they continued  
to come, relentless and possessed. Legolas could feel his own limbs become heavy  
as he saw the dogged determination of Lossarnach’s defenders, forcing themselves  
to keep fighting despite their exhaustion and lack of sleep. Through sheer  
force of will, they continued to hold the wall against the invaders and Legolas  
could not help but admire the beauty of all that proud determination.  
  
Leading this display of triumph despite their adverse situation was the king of  
Gondor, who himself stood on the front line, who did not leave the wall and  
fought just as hard, even harder some might say, to ensure that they were not  
overcome by the Haradrim. It was Aragorn’s voice that kept up the morale of his  
people and it reminded Legolas of the days after the Battle of Pelennor when the  
word had swept through Minas Tirith that the king had returned. It was a  
marvellous thing to see hope come alive on the faces of those who had been  
without it for so long. It was that faith in their king that kept the defenders  
of Lossarnach fighting even though it seemed like the Haradrim’s numbers were  
endless.  
  
Suddenly, with the first rays of sunlight filtering through the night sky, the  
advance along the wall ceased and suddenly the enemy was retreating. For a  
moment, Legolas considered that this could be a ruse designed to trick them but  
then a cry swept through the enemy ranks and the warriors that had been so  
determined to take the city began to withdraw. They left their dead where they  
were and moved slowly off the battlefield as if they were in little hurry to  
escape. The warriors of Lossnarch looked upon the withdrawal in silence,  
uncertain that what they had achieved was a victory. In fact as they saw how  
many Haradrim were withdrawing, they were certain of it.  
  
“This departure means nothing,” Nunaur who was a seasoned veteran of numerous  
wars remarked confidently as he watched the enemy disappear.  
  
“I agree,” Legolas nodded. “I think this is a strategic withdrawal, not an  
admission of defeat.”  
  
Aragorn had made his way across the length of the wall, his eyes still fixed  
ahead at the withdrawing enemy although he held no illusions as to why the  
Haradrim were departing. For the first time since the onset of the battle,  
Aragorn was able to approach Legolas since the fighting had kept them apart.  
Although they captured glimpses of each other during the night, neither had been  
able to exchange words and the abrupt cessation of hostilities made Aragorn seek  
out the elves counsel.  
  
“They are leaving to reconsider their strategy,” Aragorn announced when he  
reached Legolas and Nunaur.  
  
“I believe so,” Legolas met Aragorn’s gaze and showed his agreement with the  
king’s assessment of the situation. “They have probably discerned that they are  
wasting too many of their men in this attempt to scale the wall.”  
  
“They will be back and most likely with some other plan to invade the city,”  
Nunaur added.  
  
“We do not have much time,” Aragorn replied. “At best perhaps a few hours before  
they resume their assault and I am uncertain of what form it will come.”  
  
“We managed to hold them off this long,” Legolas declared, hearing the weariness  
in Aragorn’s voice. Sometimes it was easy to forget that even someone who was  
capable of bolstering the spirit of others in times of crisis could need the  
same words of hope. Aragorn was forcing himself to keep faith for the sake of  
his people but Legolas could see his doubts and fear of failing them was a great  
weight upon his shoulders.  
  
“Gimli believes that the leader of the Easterling Confederacy may be leading  
this attack,” Aragorn announced, his gaze sweeping across the ranks of the  
departing Haradrim as if will alone could reveal the identify of his nemesis to  
him.  
  
“Are you certain?” Legolas exclaimed, aware of how elusive that piece of  
information had been these past months since the declaration of war was made.  
  
“The man he fought said that he wished to fight with his equal, but a companion  
of mine would do. He almost killed Gimli and when our friend almost took his  
life, one of the Haradrim soldiers sacrificed himself to prevent it.”  
  
“Definitely a person of some importance,” Nunaur agreed. As the march warden of  
Eden Ardhon and the captain of Legolas’ warriors, he knew that it was a  
soldier’s duty to protect his lord and there was no question of his willingness  
to sacrifice his life if it meant achieving that end. “I think Master Gimli may  
be correct. It sounds like the behaviour of a soldier protecting his king.”  
  
“He has proven himself to be a shrewd opponent,” Aragorn replied, still staring  
beyond the walls. “I fear what he may level at us when the Haradrim return.”  
  
“And you have managed to hold Lossarnach when by all rights it should have  
fallen with the first wave of attacks,” Legolas reminded Aragorn. “Your words  
have turned farmers into warriors, willing to lay down their lives to protect  
their homes. Do not underestimate yourself.”  
  
“Thank you my friend,” Aragorn offered Legolas a smile. “As stubborn as you are,  
I am glad that you are here. We could not have done this without your aid.”  
  
“It is an honour to serve the Elfstone,” Nunaur replied without hesitation.  
  
“And someone needs to see to it that your skin remains attached to your body,”  
Legolas replied with a smirk.  
  
“Likewise,” Aragorn retorted. “I hope you do not have cause to regret this,  
Legolas.”  
  
“I would regret it more if I did not aid you in your time of need Aragorn and my  
presence here is not any avocation of war. I am here as your friend and nothing  
more,” Legolas answered sincerely.  
  
Aragorn did not answer but feared the Haradrim would not be able to make that  
distinction.  
  
**************  
  
The dawn came with no sign of the Haradrim making their return. While some in  
Lossarnach were ready to leap to the conclusion that the enemy, discouraged by  
their vehement defence of the city, had left for good. However, the majority of  
Lossarnach’s defenders were grounded in reality and anticipated that an even  
more vicious attack was eminent. In between catching a few hours rest before  
the arrival of the next onslaught, Aragorn ensured that they prepared as best  
they could for the coming melee. While their comrades slept or worked, guards  
patrolled the walls, keeping a vigil at the first sight of danger. The dawn  
should have been a time of hope but for those inside the city, it was a limbo  
where they knew not what the twilight would bring.  
  
Aragorn ensured that no one dwelt too heavily on the coming battle, occupying  
their thoughts instead with preparations to survive it. He tried to think of  
what the enemy would do, having failed the initial incursion and was almost  
certain that a siege would soon follow. He did not doubt that they would again  
try to storm the city walls but they would do so ensuring that those within it  
were too preoccupied with other matters to stop them. Thus the business of  
protecting Lossarnach from these efforts became the main occupation of its  
defenders during the hours before the second attack.  
  
The interlude between battles was also time for them to tend to their injured.  
Though it was dangerous to emerge from the safety of Lossarnach’s walls, the  
sight of their fallen brethren lying in the field was too much for many to  
endure and that kind of demoralising prior to any engagement was a dangerous  
thing. A small band of militia was given the task of retrieving Lossarnach’s  
dead. Among these, was Fenreg, Steward of Lossarnach, who had fought valiantly  
until he was set upon a five Haradrim who assailed him with multiple injuries.  
His flesh was so mutilated that he was returned to his city walls with his body  
covered and as they were unaware of how long this siege would last, no proper  
burial could be afforded other than one in fire.  
  
It was a grim duty but no more terrible than anything that awaited them when the  
Haradrim returned.  
  
“You need to take some rest,” Legolas said to Aragorn after seeking him out in  
the house of healing. Legolas was certain that Aragorn was the only one who had  
yet to take some time to replenish his strength. The king had been busily  
directing the fortification efforts, ensuring that his men were not demoralized  
by making himself accessible to them and then aiding the healers in the healing  
room set aside for the injured.  
  
“I am fine,” Aragorn said as he put the finishing touches on a wounded man’s  
bandage.  
  
“You are not fine and this self flagellation does not aid your people,” the elf  
said firmly. “Even they worry for you. They came to me when they realised how  
thick headed you were about listening to good advice.”  
  
“ I always take your counsel,” Aragorn retorted straightening up from his seat  
next to his patient’s bed.  
  
“Except when it pertains to your own well-being,” Legolas frowned. “Now you can  
come with me willingly or I will lay you flat now and you can sleep here.”  
  
“You would not dare,” Aragorn challenged even though he knew that Legolas was  
serious. “I am king you know.”  
  
“And this matters to me how?” Legolas gave him a look.  
  
“Good point,” Aragorn conceded defeat. “I will take your advice.”  
  
“That is fortunate,” Legolas said satisfied. “It is good to know that I am able  
to move you with the proper amount of inducement.”  
  
“Do not get ahead of yourself,” Aragorn remarked as they started out of the  
room. “The only elf I am afraid of is my wife and you are not as pretty as she,  
though I have heard it said…” he started so say with an expression of boyish  
mischief upon his face.  
  
“Conclude that sentence and I will hurt you,” Legolas growled shortly.  
  
Aragorn laughed shortly, glad that there was opportunity to do so despite their  
present circumstances. It was a good distraction from how much the odds were  
against them. Even as they spoke, he was certain that the enemy was somewhere,  
plotting a means to break through their defences and could succeed if  
reinforcements from Ithilien were delayed for any reason. They left the house of  
healing behind and stepped onto the walkway along the wall. Beyond the bodies of  
the dead Haradrim, the vale of Lossarnach still remained beautiful despite the  
violence that had been wrought within its confines only hours before.  
  
“Strange how it remains so untouched,” Aragorn stared into the landscape.  
  
“The land is the one constant in all things, Aragorn,” the Prince of Mirkwood  
remarked as he followed the man’s gaze. “It outlives everything, even the  
elves. I have no doubt that in the past this vale has seen much bloodshed, wars  
that have been robbed their due in the histories and long after we are gone,  
there will be many to follow but the land will remain the same, unchanged and  
indifferent.”  
  
“I wish they would stop for a little while,” Aragorn said softly, feeling deeply  
sad at the situation he now found himself with the people he cared for. “Is it  
so much to ask for Legolas, to have some peace?”  
  
“For you I fear not,” the elf said with most honesty than Aragorn would prefer  
to hear. “You are the one to bring peace Aragorn. It will not come about without  
you and it is perfectly willing to wait for you. That is your fate and the hope  
of your people.”  
  
“My mother often said that to me though she never had hope in her eyes when she  
spoke,” Aragorn replied. “I wonder what she would think of all this.”  
  
“I think Gilraen would have been proud,” Legolas said gently, even though he was  
surprised to hear Aragorn speak of the lady.  
  
Legolas himself had known Gilraen and she was a woman to be admired. Perhaps  
that is why Aragorn loved Arwen so for she possessed Gilraen’s nurturing  
strength. Aragorn had been a young man when she died but Legolas remembered the  
day well. The youth he was, had stood there at the place where they had chosen  
to rest his mother’s worn body, staring at the monument of stone built to mark  
her passing. Legolas had remembered staring at this boy, destined to be a king  
and knew that he would be because he had kept his grief under control by sheer  
will. Will like that could move mountains or more precisely win a kingdom.  
  
His face had been an impassive mask but the eyes, oh the eyes spoke such sorrow.

  
“I will never know,” Aragorn answered, his gaze lost in the descending curtain  
of night.  
  
Legolas waited for Aragorn to speak but the king remained silent, his eyes  
staring at the horizon with unflinching attention. The elf thought for a moment  
that this was a subject to difficult for the man to discuss and had decided to  
leave the subject alone when he followed Aragorn’s gaze and realised that the  
king’s preoccupation had little to do with the painful memories of his mother’s  
demise and everything to do with the arm that was making its way over the  
horizon to the walls of Lossarnach.  
  
“They have returned,” he said softly, meeting Legolas’ eyes.  
  
“You knew they would,” Legolas reminded, inwardly bracing himself for more  
bloodshed.  
  
“I did,” Aragorn answered, “though I must confess, it took longer than I  
thought.”  
  
An amazing transformation came over Aragorn then, one that Legolas never ceased  
to marvel at. The silent, introspective man he knew disappeared with a sudden  
straightening of posture and the release of a held breath. Legolas had seen it  
numerous times and had never seemed to lose the fascination of the  
metamorphosis, that first moment that he had dared to announce his lineage to  
Eomer on the trail of the Uruk Hai who had stolen away Merry and Pippin. All  
traces of Strider vanished in place was Aragorn Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnadan  
and the High King of the Reunified Kingdom.  
  
“Come my friend,” Aragorn said firmly, very much in character now. “We will see  
what else they can throw at us.”  
  
**************  
  
  
On the opposite corner of the White Mountains, the Rohirrim were also licking  
their wounds after being ambushed in the dark by the goblins of Moria. Eomer  
supposed that in the scheme of things, it was only logical that the Easterlings  
would approach the foul inhabitants of Moria to aid them in the war against  
their enemies. The Easterling Confederacy was slowly pulling together all the  
races with some grievance against Gondor and its allies and the goblins stood as  
much to lose as the rest of them in the continued prosperity of the Reunified  
Kingdom.  
  
It was well known that Gimli had made several incursions into Moria, attempting  
to purge it of the influence that had seen the destruction of Balin and his  
people. There had been rumblings for some time that the northern kingdom of  
Arnor might be wiling to commit troops to reach that end in order to exploit the  
rich mithrail deposits beneath the Misty Mountains. As if it was not enough  
that the dwarfs had invaded Moria numerous time to exact vengeance for their  
dead kin at the hands of goblins who allied themselves with the Balrog.  
  
However, with Gimli a member of the fellowship and close friend to the king, the  
day when men and elves united to rid Moria of its unholy occupants did not seem  
so distant and it was in the best interests of the goblins that they threw in  
their lot with the Easterlings. Even with the mithrail fortune existing in the  
mountains, the Easterlings had no interest in the realm of the goblins since the  
conquest of Gondor and Rohan would yield riches in itself. Eomer wondered what  
promises they had made to the goblins about dividing the spoils between  
themselves, the Dunlendings and the goblins. How far did this alliance truly  
delve.  
  
These were questions Eomer could not answer immediately, though he had no doubt  
in his mind that the goblins had waylaid Bowen and the Rohirrim the way they had  
intended to ambush Eomer and his men. Eomer was not even certain that the  
message from Bowen was truly legitimate but another part of the plan to draw  
them from Edoras into the foothills where they were vulnerable. Had the plan  
been to take the king’s head and leave the Rohirrim leaderless? Eomer could not  
answer but the architect of all this scheming was proving to be as shrewd an  
enemy as Saruman himself.  
  
During their twilight ambush at the hands of the goblin, Eomer and the Rohirrim  
had manage to fight their way into the open plains where they were in a better  
position to defend themselves. The King of the Mark did not want to think of how  
had lost during the initial skirmish but in the cold light of day, he was forced  
to concede a loss of almost a quarter of his men. If it were not for the  
prescience of the animals they rode, that number would have been far worse.  
Once in open country, the Rohirrim were in their element, night or not and they  
only had to prevail until morning before the goblins were driven back to their  
hiding places. This was done easily enough for the Rohirrim were not warriors to  
provoke.  
  
Still, they did not emerge from the battle unscathed and when they found a place  
to shelter after the fighting was done, they were still reluctant to rest easy  
until the sun had rose over the horizon once again. Goblins were notorious for  
their weakness to the sunlight and only during the day could the Rohirrim be  
truly confident that they were safe. Thus after the breaking of dawn, Eomer  
allowed his men to rest while taking a small scouting party with him to search  
for what remained of Marshall of Riddermark and his riders. Despite Carleon’s  
protests that he stay with the main party and rested his injuries, Eomer was  
determined to go and in the end, the Third Marshall of Riddermark ensured that  
the only way to keep the king safe was to remain at his side.  
  
It did not take long to return to the place where the Rohirrim had been attacked  
and in the daylight, it was hard to picture the gloomy, grey rock filled slope  
as being the scene for a life and death struggle. However, there was ample  
evidence of it in the bloodied weapons and armour that lay on the ground. Litter  
for the aftermath of battle. There were no bodies and that fact alone sent a  
streak of outrage through the search party for there could be only one reason  
for it. Goblins were man eaters. Pressing on, Eomer and his men continued their  
search and it was not long before they found the site where Bowen had fallen.  
  
It was as terrible as they feared.  
  
Once again, the refuse of a great battle or in this case, an ambush was  
evidenced all around them. It had taken Eomer many days to reach this place so  
the goblins had more time to deal with his Rohirrim brothers. Bowen had not  
fared as well as his king mostly because Eomer had more experienced dealing in  
foul kind such as goblins and Uruk Hai after being on the front lines of Helm’s  
Deep and then Pelennor. In any case, Bowen and his army had never left the place  
where the trap had been sprung and the goblins saw no reason to hide their  
victory when they knew no one would be arriving for many days to make them  
account for their terrible deeds.  
  
Here there were bodies or more accurately, bones.  
  
Eomer tried not to imagine what horrors had been faced by the injured that were  
to helpless to defend themselves or fortunate enough to have been killed  
outright. He found their bones, skeletons that had been dismembered and then  
gnarled clean. There was meat on many of them and the sight was so much like a  
slaughterhouse than many of his search party had been forced on their knees to  
retch in disgust. Eomer did not blame them for the Rohirrim were not men who  
were possessed of weak constitutions but what they found was enough to reduce  
the strongest man to horror.  
It occurred to Eomer that it was not the goblins that had frightened the horses  
so but rather the stench of blood that he and his human companions had been  
unable to detect without the beasts’ superior sense of smell. There was blood  
everywhere. It was caked on rocks, on the leaves of scant bushes. It was by far  
the most horrific thing that Eomer had seen and the discards of helmets, armour  
and weapons bathed in the same inflamed Eomer’s outrage to a white-hot fury.  
  
Unfortunately, all that could be done in the wake of such carnage was to give  
burial to what dismembered remains there could be found. None of the skeletons  
remained intact, leading Eomer to the assumption that the goblins had days to  
satisfy their taste of man flesh. The burial was a grim task that many of the  
less seasoned men of the Rohirrim were unable to manage. Only veterans of war  
who had seen similar scenes of carnage were capable of performing the task.  
Eomer himself had taken part in this duty and there was a prevailing silence of  
seething anger as they gave their dead comrades the burial they deserved  
following the death that they had not.  
  
It was traditional that the weapons of a fallen warrior should be buried with  
him and such was the case here, even if they could not discern who owned what  
weapon they found. As they gathered the weapons that would join its masters in  
their final resting place, Eomer noticed something that had not occurred to him  
before. In the wake of what they had seen, he could not deny that he was in the  
same stupor of shock as his men. However, the realisation leapt at him and led  
quickly to darker possibilities.  
  
“Carleon,” he addressed the Third Marshal of Riddermark in the midst of the  
collection as he held a goblin arrow in his hand. “Have we found any weapons  
other than those belonging to our people and the goblins?”  
  
Carleon, a veteran of Pelennor who had risen through the ranks of the Rohirrim  
quickly since, straightened up immediately and stared at his king with  
suspicion. “No,” he shook his head. “We have not.”  
  
Eomer absorbed this and in doing so become decidedly more anxious because he as  
being forced to an unpleasant location. “We received intelligence from the  
Rangers that the Dunlendings were moving towards this area. The Rangers were  
certain of it and that is why Bowen and his men set off to engage them.”  
  
“Yes,” Carleon nodded wondering why Eomer was telling him things he already  
knew. “However, their intelligence should have included the movement of the  
goblins as well.”  
  
There was more than a hint of bitterness in his voice that Eomer could not blame  
him for. The king was similarly enflamed by what they had seen today. However,  
outrage had to be set aside when looming in the distance was an even greater  
peril, one that Carleon could yet see.  
  
“Not if it were a trap to lure us here,” Eomer replied, remembering how they had  
been caught in a similar trick not long ago. “Think of it Carleon, they allow  
themselves to be detected by the Rangers so that the Rohirrim would investigate.  
The word of the Rangers is not enough to bring forth a greater Rohirrim force  
but if a message were sent from the Marshal of the Mark, summoning the king,  
that is another matter entirely.”  
  
“Then this was all an effort to bring you here to murder you?” Carleon  
exclaimed, furious at the subterfuge. The Rohirrim preferred to face their  
enemies without schemes. They believed in the purity of face-to-face  
confrontations and had little patience with deceptive strategies designed to  
weaken the enemy before that moment. This business of luring a king away from  
his people to assassinate him stabbed at the heart of the Rohirrim code of  
conduct.  
  
“No,” Eomer replied, feeling his breath quiver as he released it to answer.  
“This was about ensuring that the bulk of our forces would be away from the  
Golden Hall when the Dunlendings move to take Edoras. That is why they are not  
here. The goblins were to either kill us or delay us so that the Dunleandings  
could make their way to the heart of Rohan without interference.”  
  
Carleon could not speak but his face registered his shock. Eomer could not blame  
him because only one word filled his thoughts with this terrible deduction.  
  
Lothiriel.  


  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter Five: The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed a bold plan, an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war.Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose.

  
  
The enemy’s return was heralded by the signal of blaring horns sounded by the  
guards who had taken watch across Lossarnach’s walls. For most of the day, they  
had waited in place, certain that the enemy would return while within the city,  
their comrades licked their wounds and prepared for the next wave of attack.  
Though some deluded themselves into believing that the enemy’s departure the  
night before was permanent, the more seasoned warriors in their number knew that  
the retreat could be in no way seen as a victory. It was merely an interlude for  
both sides to recoup their losses and rethink their strategy.  
  
Aragorn had come to terms with the fact that the leader of the Easterling  
Confederacy was an equal not merely in his kingship but as was very possibly a  
warrior in his own right. After Gimli’s encounter with the man Aragorn was now  
convinced was the architect of this entire war, the king of Gondor found himself  
concerned that they had underestimated the enemy a great deal. All their  
suppositions to date in regards to the enemy’s course were no longer valid. The  
siege of Lossarnach was proof of that. Aragorn resolved that once the threat to  
Lossarnach was dealt with, he would call another council of war between the  
kings and lords of Middle earth in order to formalize a new plan of attack.  
Clearly, the one they had was inadequate to the task of anticipating the enemy,  
especially one who was proving to be as craft as this one.  
  
The enemy appeared over the horizon and as Aragorn watch them approach the walls  
of Lossarnach amidst the cacophony of voices mobilizing themselves throughout  
the city for the ensuing battle, the king of Gondor with Legolas next to him,  
ascertain quickly what would be the enemy’s plan of attack. In truth, there  
could be no other alternative in the kind of war they were engaging for the  
enemy knew just as well as Aragorn that they had to take Lossarnach before the  
arrival of Gondor’s forces. The most expedient way to breach the walls of the  
city was to burn it down around the heads of those defending it.  
  
Aragorn’s breath caught when he saw the sky over the army of the Haradrim  
emblazoned with amber light. There was no doubt in his mind what the enemy  
intended when faced with the line of flame from one end of the battlefield to  
another. Lossarnach was flanked on all sides save one by the mountains of Ered  
Namrais. Part of its favour as an agrarian centre and a summer place for  
Gondorian nobles was due to this protection. The mountains assured that  
Lossarnach was always visited with pleasant weather but also ensured that an  
invading army would have only one direction in which to assail the city.  
Unfortunately, this direction was now barred with a wall of flame, to be  
delivered upon the city by means of archers already taking up position.  
  
It did Aragorn credit that the king had anticipated this and every drop of  
water, save the barest minimum for drink had been marshalled into the resource  
for the battling the inevitable tool of any siege, fire. Archers emblazoned the  
field in a straight line that ran from one end of the horizon to the other. They  
stood against a wall of soldiers armed with pikes that they were beating against  
the ground in steady rhythm. Some were armed with ladders and ropes but what  
caught Aragorn’s attention most was construction of wood that had been absent at  
their first engagement. The reason for this was obvious enough; the Haradrim had  
assumed they would have the element of surprise when taking Lossarnach.  
Unfortunately, the fact that it was not so did not deter the Haradrim from a  
more focussed attack.  
  
During the battle of Pelennor, he had seen them employ the catapult like war  
machine known as the trebuchet. It was easily built from good wood and required  
the army wielding it to merely transport the components of elasticised ropes and  
torsion springs instead of the complete device. Once the wood was found,  
specialised engineers could construct it swiftly, often requiring little more  
than a day to have the weapon ready for use. Once employed, it was a weapon  
capable of devastating power. The enemy could burn Lossarnach around them while  
battering its walls with rock until one or both methods forced them to yield.  
Aragorn had expected the fire but he had not anticipated the use of the  
trebuchet.  
  
“We may not be able to keep them from entering the city,” Legolas declared,  
staring at the device and the wagons carrying the heavy rocks that would make up  
it ammunition in the rear of the army assembled before them. The archers were  
the first of course and there was almost beauty in their formation on the front  
lines but it was the beauty of watching some awesome phenomena doing its worst.  
Its power could be admired but could not be mistaken for anything but terrible.  
  
“We won’t,” Aragorn replied firmly, not deluding himself of this fact. “They may  
breach the walls but there is still a good deal of city left for us to hold. If  
it must be, we will find them in the streets and in the dwellings of Lossarnach.  
The Haradrim are accustomed to fighting their battle on the open field where  
else, we have enough experience fighting orcs and other foul things that we are  
familiar in close quarters combat. They enter Lossarnach but they are going to  
pay for every inch of city they invade with blood.”  
  
Legolas did not speak because Aragorn was on the move again, this time rallying  
the archers of Lossarnach to combat the new menace. Most of them had gathered at  
the first sight of the enemy but it was clear arrows would not win this  
engagement. Once again Legolas found himself facing an almost insurmountable  
enemy, taking the line with other archers who tried to appear unaffected by what  
was before them. His own mask remained aloof as he attempted to show them that  
there was nothing to fear and even if there were, it would avail them nothing to  
succumb to it. He could see their involuntary glimpses in his direction and that  
of the other elves present and Legolas sensed that they looked to the Eldar to  
bolster their spirit.  
  
Not that Aragorn was not managing this quite efficiently, Legolas noted. The  
king of Gondor stood at the edge of the wall, issuing orders, rallying his men  
with words of praise at their courage, firing their spirit with his own iron  
clad will. Despite the army preparing to attack, Legolas could see the faces of  
Lossarnach’s defenders shifting from anxiety to angry determination not to fail  
their king. There were kings who had ruled for a hundred years and never knew  
the adulation Aragorn was inspiring in his troops as he held Anduril over his  
head.  
  
There was a moment of overwhelming silence when both armies waited across the  
battlefield, sizing each other up in contest of scrutiny as old as the first  
battle. None spoke during this curious limbo and even the drumming of spears and  
pikes against the earth ceased for the duration. Aragorn searched the line of  
the Haradrim for his nemesis but could not see him through the line of fire that  
preceded the army before him. However, Aragorn was certain that he was there,  
seeking his Gondorian opposite just as surely as Aragorn was trying to find him.  
He abandoned his search when he saw the Haradrim archers preparing to shoot  
their arrows.  
  
“Shields!” Aragorn ordered and immediately the standing next to each archer on  
the wall produced their shields and held them protectively over the bowmen and  
themselves in tight, formation. Like a ripple on a pool, shields appeared like a  
new wall of steel springing to live. Even Aragorn had produced one and held it  
over himself and Legolas to protect them from the onslaught of fiery arrows.  
There would be only a brief margin of time between the Haradrims’ first release  
and their swift rearming. It was during that narrow gap that the archers of  
Lossarnach would act.

Suddenly the battle cry of the Haradrim echoed through the night, shattering the  
silence even further. A great wind of flame swept across the space between the  
enemy and Lossarnach as the Haradrim line released their barrage of arrows after  
long last. Fiery streaks of light shot through the dark sky like falling stars.  
They did not fly towards the enemy on the wall but continued into the city where  
its flames would do the most harm. The few that strayed from this predestined  
course met the hard obstruction of steel and slid of the shields that guarded  
the men behind it. As soon as the arrows were released, the defenders of  
Lossarnach emerged from behind their shields and proceeded to deliver an equally  
deadly attack in a return barrage of arrows.  
  
A third of the Haradrim line collapsed beneath this deadly bombardment. The  
death of their comrades did not slow the enemy and they resumed their assault  
with similar vigour although the second wave of arrows was nowhere as numerous  
as the first. This time however, the archers of Lossarnach did not retreat  
behind their shields and continued to shoot, certain now that the enemy had  
little interest in them and was determined to deliver as many flamed arrows to  
the city in order to raze it. The Haradrim was in no way prepared to sacrifice  
all its bowmen and an order in black speech sent the send wave of troops racing  
forward, armed wit pikes and ladders.  
  
Their advance had the desired effect upon the defenders who promptly directed  
their arrows upon the warriors crossing the distance between Haradrim line and  
the walls of the city. As the archers busied themselves with kerbing the advance  
of the Haradrim, the rest of Lossarnach found their attention fixed upon the  
fires that were breaking out throughout the city. The fires caused by the  
arrows though small would soon find fuel to burn hotter and further out of  
control. Roofs made of wood and thatched fibres were quick to ignite and a small  
arrow if left to burn would soon bathed the whole building in flames.  
  
Those who were not fighting the invasion on the walls were dispersing through  
the innards of Lossarnach to combat the threat of fire that was spreading  
quickly through the city. Smaller fires were being beaten to death with heavy  
blankets in an effort to conserve water, while a human chain had formed from the  
wells and water troughs to the fires that were raging beyond the capability of  
any blanket to contain. They worked with great urgency amidst the thickening  
smoke that was polluting the air around them and the clouds that were sweeping  
through Lossarnach like an ill wind. Eyes watered and throats burned, the sound  
of cackling fire was replaced by deep, whooping coughs of men determined to  
prevail despite their assault by the flames.  
  
Aragorn looked over his shoulder to see their progress and felt a swell of pride  
in the fierceness of their determination. Some buildings were irrevocably lost,  
their roof lighting like tinder, casting a fearsome glow of amber throughout the  
place. Some were being beaten into submission, either by water or blanket. There  
were people who were taking to using dirt to suffocate the flames, wielding  
shovels as they fought desperately to keep the fires from spreading further.  
Unfortunately, the king could allow his attention to stray but for only a moment  
because the enemy had pushed forward, using their overwhelming numbers to reach  
the walls.  
  
However, Aragorn was conscious of an even worse threat as he stared at the army  
before him. He paid little attention to the warriors attempting to scale the  
wall with ladders and ropes because he knew that the defenders of Lossarnach  
were cutting down any Haradrim making the attempt. No, his concern lay in the  
weapon that had so far remained unused. He could see the engineers responsible  
for its function swirling around the construct, loading it with the appropriate  
ammunition. At first Aragorn thought that they were merely rocks but the  
Haradrim had smeared them with something dark. He thought it might have been mud  
but that made little sense to him.  
  
“What are they doing?” Legolas asked, having caught Aragorn’s gaze.  
  
“They are arming that thing,” Aragorn replied. “That much is certain but I am  
uncertain of what they have treated the rocks.”  
  
Their speculation ended but a moment later when one of the engineers raised a  
torched to the seemingly mud encrusted boulder. It caught alight easily enough  
and the fire spread across its irregular surface with surprising swiftness.  
  
“Tar,” Aragorn exclaimed. “That is tar!”  
  
The word had not left his lips when the mechanism was released and the boulder  
encrusted with the black was hurled towards the city walls.  
  
“Off the wall!” Aragorn was shouting, aware that in ordering the retreat, they  
were leaving themselves to be over run. “Everyone, get off the wall!”  
Unfortunately, once the boulder met its mark, it would make little difference  
anyway.  
  
Some had already seen what was coming and leapt off the high wall, not caring  
that they might be injured in the leap but it was far wiser than remaining.  
Others scurried down the steps away from the wall since it was difficult to  
predict where the projectile would land. In the final analysis, such foresight  
made little difference for when the bolder struck, the wall facing the enemy  
shuddered and groaned as if it had voice to speak. The result was almost an  
explosion as those who had not put sufficient distance between themselves and  
the fall were flung outward like the debris of shattering rock. The impact of  
the boulder immediately collapsed the section of wall in a cloud of smoke and  
dust.  
  
A fissure appeared through the wall as brick crumbled into dust. The boulder had  
shattered when it had met the hard stone surface but its destruction produced an  
even greater threat as fragments of rock, covered in tar sprayed the area with  
fire. Those who had not died in the initial impact, who remained broken and  
unable to move, were left to burn in unimaginable agony as they were covered  
with fiery debris. Their comrades scrambled to aid them but there was little or  
no time to draw breath before the newly created opening was spilling forth with  
Haradrim warriors who had finally found their way inside Lossarnach’s perimeter.  
  
And it was but the first strike from the insidious weapon.  
  
Aragorn lost sight of Legolas after he had issued his warning but soon found the  
elf helping one of the injured to his feet. The man had fortunately survived the  
initial impact but was surrounded by fragments of burning debris and lay in the  
path of the invading Haradrim. Gimli was already facing the enemy and was  
bringing down anyone who came across his way with typical gusto. The elves had  
also abandoned their bows and were now fighting with swords, engaging the enemy  
with almost grace like skill. Nunaur was proving why he was the march warden of  
Eden Ardhon for he was a terror to watch on the battlefield. His moves were  
subtle and graceful, no over extensions or clumsy attempts at brute force but  
rather short, controlled strikes that made the most impact and rarely needed to  
deliver more than two before his opponent was a thing of the past.  
  
It was of no surprise to Aragorn who had battled alongside of elves in one arena  
or another through most of his life. During the War of the Ring, Legolas had  
been one of his greatest assets on the field of battle; Gimli and he had made a  
formidable team indeed. Aragorn watched briefly as the elf removed the wounded  
warrior to a place of safety, though how long it remained that way was  
debatable. The outcome he had feared was taking place – the battle for  
Lossarnach would be fought within its walls, not beyond it.  
  
Aragorn was prompted into moving when he saw a Haradrim warrior making his way  
across the debris covered dirt towards Legolas, who was still busy with his  
injured comrade and appeared not to have noticed the advance. A slight  
stiffening in Legolas’ posture told Aragorn otherwise and he released one hand  
to grope for his sword in order to defend himself. Aragorn could see that he  
would not be able to react in time, especially when Legolas’ attention was half  
given to the danger coming at him and the fate of the man in the grip of his  
other hand.  
  
Before he could think twice, Aragorn had launched himself off the edge of the  
wall on top of the would-be assassin of his best friend. His weight brought down  
the Haradrim warrior like a felled boar and Aragorn wasted no time smashing his  
head against the ground, where he struggled no more. Legolas released a breath  
at the near miss and acknowledged Aragorn’s aid with a slight nod of his head.  
They had been comrades far too long to require any more than that. Aragorn rose  
to his feet as Legolas left the injured man beneath the awning of a building  
that had somehow managed to escape the onslaught of fire around them. The  
structure seemed relatively safe and the men offered his thanks to the elf  
before Legolas turned away to join Aragorn in battling the invading hordes  
spilling through the orifice.  
  
He had no more than taken two steps when suddenly, his ears filled with an  
explosion of sound. A force that was not unlike that of a gale threw Legolas  
forward. The elf face’s scraped dirt as his head swirled with disorientation and  
the business of hearing become a muffled affair of dull pelting against the  
ground. He opened his eyes and saw Aragorn running towards him, the king’s  
expression one of fear. Legolas was confused for a moment, feeling no injury  
except this odd heat upon his back. Only when Aragorn pulled off his coat and  
draped it over the elf, did Legolas realise that his back was on fire. That his  
hair had not ignited was a testament to Aragorn’s speed that prevented that  
horrific outcome from taking place with his speedy action.  
  
“Are you alright?” Aragorn demanded as he pulled the leather pack where Legolas  
normally house his bow and his weapons. Fortunately, the pouch carrying the  
arrows had bore the brunt of the damage which would have been a source of  
intense gratitude to Legolas who would have surely grieved if Galadriel’s gift  
to him were damaged.  
  
“What happened?” Legolas asked only because his head was still spinning, though  
if he had given it more thought the answer would have been fairly obvious.  
  
Looking over his shoulder, Legolas saw the house when he had left the injured  
man he rescued had been completely levelled. The Haradrim weapon had smashed  
through its foundations and what it did not set ablaze, it crumbled around the  
man’s ears in a swift and final end. All there was in place of a building was a  
pile of flaming debris, almost like a funeral pyre. Of the man, there as no sign  
and Legolas felt a sliver of pain knowing that his body was buried beneath the  
destruction. The elf only hoped that his death had been quick.  
  
“That is twice you have saved me,” Legolas said softly, his voice somewhat dazed  
as Aragorn helped him to his feet.  
  
“I am certain that there will be ample opportunity this day for you to return  
that debt,” the king replied as his eyes surveyed the damage being caused by the  
Haradrim construct beyond the walls of the city. Enemy warriors were flooding  
into Lossarnach with fierce fighting taking place in almost every corner.  
Amidst this already difficult battle, another was being waged against the fires  
that were quickly enveloping anything in its path. The militia was battling this  
equally dangerous enemy with every resource at their disposal and the division  
of forces was hurting the defence of Lossnarch.  
  
“We have to stop that accursed device,” Legolas declared once he had recovered  
sufficiently. The bombardment continued relentlessly, until the explosion of  
sound with each impacting boulder was something they were becoming accustomed  
to. This barrage was proving to be more detrimental than the great numbers of  
Haradrim they were facing. Walls were crumbling with each impact, buildings  
destroyed in spectacular explosions that promised everyone present that if the  
Haradrim did not take Lossarnach, they would still leave it in ruins.  
  
Aragorn considered that and searched the bodies around him to note that there  
was a great deal of Haradrim warriors fighting their way into the city. Their  
thoughts seemed focussed on little else. He made a swift calculation of how  
many were within his city and wondered if the idea forming in his mind was  
sensible or not. As king, he should be here leading his people but if this  
bombardment continued, there would be nothing left of Lossarnach or its people  
to defend.  
  
“I think you are right,” Aragorn met his gaze. “Care to join me?”  
  
Legolas’ dirt smeared face broke into a smile and he stared at the opening where  
more and more warriors were making their way into the city. “It is a perilous  
course,” he advised, “we should tread cautiously.”  
  
“You are correct Master Elf,” Aragorn retorted, grasping his meaning  
immediately. “We should make Gimli come with us.”  
  
*************  
  
  
The destruction that had seemed overwhelming when one was within the walls of  
Lossarnach, seemed even worst when the three of the nine walkers slipped past  
the bodies of Haradrim racing to take the city, oblivious to everything else. Of  
course it did help that all three were accustomed to stealth and travelling  
unseen through the most hostile of places. If it were not for this talent, none  
of them would have survived the Quest of the Ring even if it had ended  
prematurely at the falls of Rauros. They moved in darkness, taking advantage of  
the fact that all eyes were drawn naturally to the illumination of the fires  
that were running rife through Lossarnach and not the surrounding darkness.  
  
There were enemies encountered on the way, opponents who did not look too  
closely at them or wonder in depth why they had ventured so far from their other  
comrades, recognising only that they were the enemy. The three walkers dealt  
with these swiftly, allowing nothing to deter them in their journey. Aragorn  
cast his gaze over his shoulder during the advance and felt his stomach hollow  
at the sight of the Lossarnach whose wounds seemed even more grievous from the  
distance. Columns of thick smoke rose into the night sky, pillars of grey that  
pierce the heavens themselves. In the brief glimpse he could hear the cries of  
the wounded amidst the clanging of steel and found that it was necessary to  
harden his heart or else he could not do what must be done if they were to  
survive the night, let alone the siege.  
  
The weapon that had allowed the enemy its great advantage was still sending  
fireball towards the city and with impact and exploding sound, defeat inched  
even closer than before. If the three of them did not put an end to the  
accursed device, there would be no Lossarnach to defend, just demolished ruins  
breathed in fire. Aragorn could accept it if they were defeated by overwhelming  
numbers for he knew that each any every one of Lossarnach’s defenders were  
fighting with honour. However, losing because a construct of wood and steel left  
a sour taste in his mouth.  
  
It was not difficult to find the weapon or its masters once the Haradrim  
warriors had dispersed into the conquest of Lossarnach. Unmistakable in its  
construction, they saw at least a dozen men gathered around the weapon, either  
taking part in its operation or preparing the ammunition with tar and fire for  
its eventual release upon the beleaguered city. The enemy did not pay much heed  
to their approach at first, assuming that they were part of the Haradrim number.  
The darkness aided in this confusion and three walkers were quite adept at  
stealthy approaches to be able to remain anonymous until the last possible  
moment.  
  
However, the moment was brief because the Haradrim gathered around the weapon  
may have been engineers but they were also warriors and it was inevitable that  
they recognised the three men approaching were not of their own. All abandoned  
what they were doing as they raced forward to deal with this sudden threat and  
found that their opponents were more than accustomed to waging a three man army  
when the mood took them. Sword, bow and axe were proven to be formidable  
weapons in the hands of master wielders as Aragorn dispatched the first Haradrim  
to reach him with a swift slice across his belly. Armour or not, Anduril saw  
little difficulty in penetrating it and dropped the Haradrim in midstep. The  
king of Gondor did not even pause before moving on to the next challenger.  
  
Legolas who was capable of arming a bow and killing his enemy when he was but a  
few paces away, made swift work of any Haradrim who might have attempted to  
accost Aragorn while he was defending himself. The king had done him several  
good turns this evening and Legolas intended to see that debt paid. With almost  
flawless grace, he repeated the motion of rearming his bow and shooting arrows  
in almost cyclical rhythm. Within minutes, Legolas had formed a circle of bodies  
around him all the way to the trebuchet.  
  
While Aragorn and Legolas battled the machine’s masters, Gimli approached the  
device itself. Like Aragorn, he had recognised the construct from the battle of  
the Pelennor. To a dwarf, the weapon was functional but hardly sophisticated.  
He examined it as one would examine the crude efforts of a novice smith, seeing  
potential in the flaws but obviously in need of greater instruction. Dwarves,  
who were unimaginably gifted when it came to working either metal or wood, had  
little time to build weapons. Of course their axes and blades were the finest to  
be crafted anywhere in Middle earth. Some were even considered works of art but  
their innovation seldom lent itself to their weapons. Though they enjoyed battle  
and relished victory, they did not actively seek it out.  
  
Gimli required only a few moments of examination to come to the conclusion that  
the weapon was easy enough to disable. He had to admire its simplicity but in  
that asset was also its weakness. As easy as it was for it to perform its  
function, it was also ludicrously easy to render ineffective. Stepping forward,  
he examined the elasticised ropes that acted as the levering mechanism for the  
construct and knew that this was the pivotal component. Swinging his axe, the  
blade made a neat arc through the air before it struck the fibres of the rope,  
snapping it with such force that they recoiled like whips. The main arm of the  
catapult suddenly gave way and slammed hard against the ground, unearthing tufts  
of soil in its landing. Gimli repeated this action on the hinges as well until  
all the components that made the device work lay in ruins.  
  
“Is it done?” Legolas asked after Gimli had concluded his task.  
  
“It will menace Lossarnach no further,” the dwarf retorted grimly.  
  
“It did enough,” Aragorn said unable to be grateful when all he could see in the  
distance was the damage done to the city. The fires were raging out of control  
and even if they manage to defend Lossarnach until Faramir arrived with the rest  
of Gondor’s forces, there was every possibility that there may be little left of  
the city.  
  
”Come,” he ushered his companions, “we must get back. There is still much to  
do.”  
  
To this, none of his companions could disagree. Despite the destruction of the  
device that was causing so much damage to Lossarnach, the danger was by no small  
means ended. There were still too many Haradrim warriors in the city and the  
fires ensured that the men who should be fighting them were otherwise occupied  
in trying to save the city. Aragorn led the journey back to Lossarnach,  
satisfied that his absence away from its defence had been well worth the effort.

  
However, as they made their returned to the city, a dozen or more Haradrim  
warriors emerged from the breach in the wall with great speed. It took no feat  
of genius to discern that the reason for their hasty departure was due to the  
fact that the construct was no longer bombarding Lossarnach with its fiery  
ammunition nor did it take them long to discover who was responsible for it.  
The enemy fixed their eyes upon the trio whose return path ensured that they  
could not have from any other direction other than the weapon. The realisation  
inspired the warriors to rush forward, brandishing their weapons in readiness to  
strike.  
  
Legolas halted in midstep, seeing no reason to wait until the enemy reached them  
to attack. The elf was already arming his bow and taking aim when the first of  
the Haradrim swung his blade to strike. The arrow struck him in the chest,  
forcing him to stagger back in pain and impending death for Legolas knew where  
the arrow would do its worst. The lord of Eden Ardhon wasted no time in  
releasing another arrow and with the skill for which he had become renowned  
throughout Middle earth, dispatched a further three before his companions were  
forced to engage the enemy themselves.  
  
While not quite possessing Legolas’ finesse in defending himself, Aragorn did  
strike fear into the hearts of his opponents by the brutal and precise wielding  
of his sword. Blade met blade with such force that the enemy was driven back.  
It was not that Aragorn was stronger or more imposing in stature, he merely knew  
how to strike with great effect. While his rancour in battle might be confused  
for a frenzied attack, those who knew him and were accustomed to this  
swordsmanship knew that every strike had a purpose that would ultimately  
demolish whatever defence position his opponent may deign to take.  
  
Unfortunately, during the course of the battle the triumvirate which had thus so  
far proved so useful was unwittingly divided. While each were able to hold their  
own against the enemy, Aragorn found himself drifting further and further away  
from his companions. Deciding that this was not entirely the best time to become  
divided, the king defeated his latest opponent and sought to rejoin his comrades  
when suddenly a dark shape slipped in front of him almost as if he had stepped  
out of the shadows.  
  
Aragorn knew immediately whom he was facing, remembering Gimli’s description all  
too well. He was taller than Aragorn but the king was able to say with some  
measure of satisfaction that the man was nowhere as large as a troll, though he  
was sizeable to say the least. He stared at Aragorn with flinty eyes, trying to  
dissect his counterpart in a few seconds of scrutiny. He was not of the race of  
Haradrim but certainly originated from the Sunlands.  
  
Gimli had been correct when he said that Melia was a hybrid of two races. This  
man before him was the pure product without question. Like the Haradrim  
warriors, he wore the customary spiked helmet and corselet of bronze. However,  
Aragorn noticed the symbol of the black serpent was adorned upon the alloy of  
the breastplate. Unlike the other Haradrim, this one wore no paint upon his face  
and his dark hair, tight with curls was worn short against his scalp, save for a  
thick braid of hair that was held in place by gold running down the back of his  
neck.  
  
“You lead this army?” Aragorn asked with absolute certainty that this man was  
king.  
  
“I do,” he nodded sombrely, the weapon in his hand brandished and ready.  
  
“You have proven to be most elusive,” Aragorn remarked, noting the action and  
making the same preparations.  
  
“I intended it to be as such,” the tall, dark man of the Sunlands answered.

”Now that you are here, may I know to whom I speak?” The king of Gondor asked of  
his Haradrim counterpart.  
  
The enemy’s brow arched at the question, “is that so important?”  
  
“To me it is,” Aragorn replied.  
  
“Then I refuse because it matters to you so much,” he sneered, his eyes  
narrowing at Aragorn in contempt.  
  
“It does not have to come to this,” Aragorn replied unperturbed, thinking  
himself remiss if he did not at least try to talk peace now that he finally had  
the leader of the Easterling Confederacy before him. In truth, he knew it would  
make little difference but he had been the responsible leader for too long to  
not even try.  
  
“I expected better from you King of Gondor,” the warrior king glared at Aragorn  
with something akin to impatience, “not this pathetic grovelling.”  
  
Aragorn stiffened at the inference but allowed the man’s words to slide off him  
like water upon a fowl’s back. “I do not grovel for my sake,” he stared at the  
Haradrim king with a hint of contempt, “but rather for yours. Your people cannot  
afford to wage war against mine.”  
  
“And yet we have managed well enough this evening,” his opponent retorted.  
  
“You have only managed because you have employed the element of surprise and  
caught us unprepared. We will not make the same mistake again,” Aragorn replied  
firmly.  
  
“Your arrogance will be your undoing,” the enemy hissed and raised his scimitar  
to strike. “It will be my pleasure to teach you how.”  
  
With that, the civilities, what little there were, ended when the Haradrim swung  
his weapon at Aragorn who immediately deflected the blade with Anduril’s own  
formidable strength. Steel clanged loudly as the two warriors met on the field,  
prepared to fight to the death if necessary. In the darkness of twilight, their  
kingly titles were stripped away and they faced each other in the only way two  
men of differing loyalties could. Initially, both opponents met each other with  
exploratory strikes to determine skill and ability. Aragorn found that his  
opponent was stronger and preferred to end his engagements swiftly through brute  
force. It was very much a Haradrim characteristic but it was tempered with the  
skill of a master swordsman, which made him very dangerous indeed.  
Aragorn preferred to strike defensively, until he had a better inkling of the  
Haradrim’s strategy. He parried a sharp thrust of the enemy’s blade and riposte  
swiftly, forcing the man to take a few steps backwards. Rage flared in his as  
Aragorn saw how much he loathed being forced to withdraw for any reason. This  
retreat only forced the Haradrim to swing even more powerfully at Aragorn who  
once again caught the blow before it could do any real harm. However, as their  
swords made contact, Aragorn lashed out with his foot, the ball of it connecting  
to the enemy’s stomach.  
  
A groan of pain escaped the Haradrim king whose response to this was to swing  
wildly and with such power that if Aragorn had not dropped, he would have lost  
his head there and then. Forcing to avoid such a savage attack had placed him in  
a position of disadvantage that his opponent was quick to exploit. A knee  
slammed into Aragorn’s chest, driving the wind out of him as he landed flat on  
his back. He looked up just in time to see a blade coming down upon him and  
Aragorn rolled quickly out of the way before he kicked hard against his enemy’s  
knee and scrambled to his feet. Giving him little time to react, Aragorn took  
the offensive and swung Anduril with all the might he could manage.  
  
The Haradrim deflected the blow but just barely. Aragorn did not allow him time  
to recover and threw a fist in his face. The man shook of the strike and then  
leapt to his feet with surprising agility to face Aragorn again. Once again,  
they came together in the dance of clashing steel. Both were well matched and as  
they battled each other alone and far away from the eyes of their warriors, it  
felt as if the war had suddenly contracted to this singular engagement.  
  
However, Aragorn could see that the Haradrim was unaccustomed to a protracted  
swordfight while he had been in situations where he had been called to continue  
fighting for days. It was understandable of course. Even during the War of the  
Ring, the enemy was accustomed to striking in numbers where a swift victory was  
anticipated. Sauron only used his orcs and Uruk Hai for sustained warfare.  
Having battled them for so long, Gondor and Rohan knew how to last in such  
tournaments and now more than ever, it was a skill worth its weight in gold.  
  
“You fight well King of Gondor,” the enemy hissed. “The tales of your skill are  
not unfounded.”  
  
“If this is your attempt to curry favour for mercy, I am afraid that you  
exhausted that possibility when you butchered the people of Lebethron.”  
  
“A means to an end,” he grinned, white teeth contrasting starkly against dark  
lips. He swung again with Aragorn blocking the strike easily, however the  
Haradrim also lashed out with a massive hand and struck the king across the jaw.

  
Aragorn staggered a little but did not suffer any ill effects other than pain  
and momentary disorientation. He shook off the pain and weaved neatly past the  
Haradrim when the enemy came at him again. Slamming an elbow into the man’s rib,  
he felt some measure of satisfaction in the groan of pain that was produced.  
Allowing himself no break in his relentless attack, Aragorn kicked him in the  
back and sent the enemy sprawling into the dirt. The Haradrim landed face first,  
his body causing a small cloud of dust as he landed. Aragorn hurried forward  
preparing to end this battle once and for all when suddenly a fist full of dirt  
was flung in his face.  
  
The king of Gondor cursed indignantly as his eyes reacted instinctively to the  
unwanted invasion by clamping shut, locking out sight. Aragorn retreated  
hastily, aware that he had a precious few seconds to recover this cowardly  
attack or else as far as he was concerned, the war would well and truly be over.  
It was difficult to see through the welling moisture in his eyes but he was  
able to make out the shape of the Haradrim king approaching him, sword  
brandished and ready to deliver a killing blow. Aragorn struggled to offer some  
kind of defense despite his handicap when suddenly, he saw the enemy groan in  
pain. An arrow had suddenly speared through this arm, its sharp point jutting  
out through flesh in Aragorn’s direction. The Haradrim king swung around and  
saw the approach of Legolas and Gimli who had despatched their opponents and  
then realised quite to their shock that Aragorn was nowhere in sight.  
  
“This is not done,” the enemy hissed as he glared hatefully at Aragorn and then  
at Legolas, “my people will bathe Middle earth in blood before this is over and  
I promise your pet elf is going to pay dearly for his part in this.”  
  
With that, the king of the Easterlings fled into the darkness.  
  
************  
  
When Legolas and Gimli finally arrived at Aragorn’s side, the king of Gondor had  
sufficiently regained most of his vision, though his eyes still stung from the  
invasion by dirt. The Easterling leader had fled, obviously unwilling to face  
the combined strength of Aragorn and his companions. Aragorn searched the field  
and saw little sign of the man who had most likely hurried back to the battle of  
Lossarnach where he could lose himself in the numbers of his people.  
  
“Did you see where he went?” Aragorn demanded of Legolas whose vision and senses  
were far superior to his own, even when it was not half blind from sand.  
  
“I saw him return to the city,” Legolas replied smoothly.  
  
“We must find him!” Aragorn exclaimed and started making forceful strides  
towards Lossarnach.  
  
“Why?” Legolas asked with some measure of confusion.  
  
“I think he may have been the opponent I faced earlier,” Gimli answered for  
Aragorn, grasping the truth far swifter because the shape that had hurried away  
after Legolas had put an arrow in it was decidedly familiar.  
  
“The Haradrim king?” Legolas declared with surprise. He had been so concerned  
with stopping the man from killing Aragorn that he had thought of little else  
except halting the progress of that swinging blade. Perhaps he should not have  
been more final in his action.  
  
“It was him,” Aragorn hissed almost inaudibly. “He would not do me the courtesy  
of giving me his name.”  
  
Legolas could sense the fury in his friend as Aragorn hurried back to the  
beleaguered city. He wondered what had transpired during the engagement between  
the two rivals that could incense the King of Gondor so. After all, war despite  
its ability to spear through the heart of everyone it touched was still a highly  
impersonal affair between kings. It was often based on issues that had little to  
do with the men who wore the crowns but rather the events that transpired  
between them. Yet there was something personal in the manner Aragorn had emerged  
from his encounter with the Haradrim king. He hastened his pace to catch up  
with Aragorn but the king was moving rapidly off the field, fired by anger and  
matters that Legolas was not privy.  
  
“Let him go,” Gimli advised. “He will tell us later what took place between  
them.”  
  
Legolas nodded sombrely and was about to comment further when his senses were  
drawn elsewhere. He could feel it pressing against his awareness but it lacked  
the edge of danger. He drifted away from Gimli for a moment, staring into the  
horizon, watching in anticipation. Gimli saw the gleam in his eye, having  
travelled long enough at the side of the Prince to know what significance it  
had.  
  
“What is it?” Gimli asked, following Legolas’ gaze.  
  
“Someone is coming,” Legolas replied, still staring.  
  
A few more seconds elapsed and it bore into Gimli’s patience when it appeared  
that they were staring at nothingness but then like a soft rumble against the  
ground, the dwarf felt the resonance travel through the soles of his boots into  
his bones. It was soft at first. Barely discernible because of the noise coming  
from the battle within Lossarnach was overwhelming all other sound. However, it  
soon took on a life of its own and grew until it matched easily the commotion  
emanating from the battle. When it became loud enough to hear clearly, Gimli  
recognised it immediately for what it was.  
  
Horses.  
  
Leading the way on the darkened horizon, Faramir appeared with the Rohirrim and  
Gondorian cavalry behind him. It was difficult to tell how many they were but  
their numbers were many, enough to fill both Legolas and Gimli with gratitude  
because at last they reinforcements they needed so badly would help turn the  
tide of the battle. The defenders had been holding their own for almost two  
nights and while they had fought bravely, the losses that the Haradrim had  
inflicted upon them were considerable. The fires were threatening to consume  
the whole of Lossarnach and not even their valiant efforts could save the city  
when they being were assailed by two enemies.  
  
It did not take long for the reinforcements to reach the city and once they did,  
the battle ended swiftly. The Haradrim, realising that the defenders were now  
aided with the support of the Rohirrim and the Gondorian cavalry had bade a  
hasty retreat. Although a sizeable number of them had been killed in the battle,  
there were still enough of them to cause considerable mischief if they were not  
pursued. Unfortunately, the arrival of Faramir had only brought enough support  
to drive away the invaders, not to give chase. That action could wait until  
Imrahil arrived with the ground troops.  
  
Aragorn had searched desperately for the leader of the Haradrim but upon his  
return to Lossarnach, he saw no sign of the man whom he had battled to  
stalemate. Their encounter had proven to Aragorn that unless this formidable  
warrior was either reasoned with or killed, the war would never end. The hatred  
in his eyes told Aragorn that he would never cease to consider the Reunified  
Kingdom and its allies as anything but enemies. As the enemy left the walls of  
Lossarnach, Aragorn was determined that as soon as it was possible, they would  
set out after the Haradrim army. He had not said to Legolas the threat made by  
the Easterling king regarding Legolas and his people because he intended to  
engage the army before they could take out their vengeance on Eden Ardhon for  
their defeat at Lossarnach.

Despite the end of the fighting, the battle was by no means ended. Once Faramir  
and the riders with him had ensured that the Haradrim had gone completely from  
the area, they returned to join the equally important battle to save Lossarnach  
from the flames caused by the siege. They worked long and hard into the night,  
salvaging what they could but unfortunately, the destruction was far too grave  
and insidious to prevent the loss of many of Lossarnach’s homes. By the time  
the dawn broke over the horizon, much of Lossarnach appeared decimated. Very  
little still stood even though they could claim the charred ground the city  
stood upon as still being a home for one of Gondor’s older fiefdoms.  
  
“The people of Lossarnach will not have much of a homecoming,” Aragorn lamented  
as he stood with Faramir at one of the structures that had been made into a  
place of rest following the breaking of dawn when the flames had finally been  
quelled.  
  
Faramir swept his gaze around his immediate surroundings and was sad to find  
agreement with his king. The air smelt of smoke and cinders, while the walls of  
the Lossarnach were charred black. There was not an inch of space on the ground  
that was not covered with ash or charred cinders. The blackened framework was  
all that was left of some buildings. Its determination to stand was a monument  
to futility when all else around it had been burned away. Men wandered about,  
their heads bent low and their faces a gamut of emotions, shock, anger, despair  
and relief, a veritable cornucopia of feelings that Faramir could empathise  
with.  
  
“At least it is still here,” Faramir replied, trying to soothe his king’s  
inevitable feeling of failure. Aragorn took defeats much too hard, particularly  
when it was to the detriment of his people. “They can rebuild.”  
  
Aragorn stared at the destruction and swallowed away the feelings of guilt that  
were climbing up his throat from his insides, threatening to make him useless to  
all who needed him. “As soon as Imrahil is here, we will leave here and find  
them.”  
  
“Find them or him?” Faramir asked slyly, aware of the encounter with the  
Haradrim king.  
  
Aragorn looked at him sharply, “we have to find him and we have to kill him. If  
we do not, this will never end. They will never be satisfied with peace.”  
  
“How can you be sure?” Faramir inquired, sensing some unspoken anxiety that  
Aragorn was reluctant to voice.  
  
“I can be sure because I looked into his eyes Faramir and what I saw there  
concerns me greatly. This whole invasion is because of him. They love him and  
they will follow him into any battle, do anything that they ask of him. Do you  
know how great such power is?”  
  
“Yes,” Faramir nodded, often thinking that Aragorn had that kind of strength  
that naturally drew people to him. “I do.”  
  
“His hate for us is personal and I do not think that he be willing to endure any  
peace, so long as the Reunified Kingdom exists and this defeat will only make  
that rage burn even greater. What I feared the most for Legolas has come to  
pass, the enemy had decided that the elves are to be warred upon like the rest  
of us.”  
  
“You think that they will move upon Eden Ardhon?” Faramir asked, wishing he  
could say something that dispelled Aragorn’s fears but he could not.  
  
“I do not think,” Aragorn said with a sigh, “I know.”  
  
*************  
  
Lothiriel had made a difficult choice when she had elected to remain in Edoras  
instead of returning home to Dol Amroth.  
  
Because she was neither wife nor the betrothed of King Eomer, her status was  
regarded with some measure of confusion within the Golden Hall. As it was, she  
was under some ignominy because she had ignored the protocols that required her  
to be at home with her parents instead of unchaperoned in the realm of a  
potential suitor. However, Lothiriel knew in her heart that she loved Eomer and  
saw no reason to be cloistered away from him when he needed her most. Edoras,  
like the rest of the Reunified Kingdom was under threat and she saw no reason to  
leave the place she may some day dwell permanently as its queen.  
  
During Eomer’s absence, Lothiriel spent much of her time in the suite of rooms  
that had become her home away from home since her arrival in Edoras. While the  
people in the palace treated her well enough, she knew that they viewed her with  
deep scrutiny as they tried to decide whether or not she was a proper match for  
their beloved king. Until Eomer returned and her position in his life more  
secure, Lothiriel was content to remain out of their purview, even though she  
ventured occasionally from the palace to see for herself how life progressed in  
Edoras.  
  
It was a very different place from Dol Amroth and yet so alike at the same time.  
The chief business in Edoras was the sale of horses. Much of the commerce that  
took place in the city involved the cottage industry that had blossomed in the  
wake of Rohan’s fame as the breeding ground for Middle earth’s best horses.  
During the dark years when Sauron still walked among them, even Mordor had  
desired the horses of Rohan and had stolen them when the Golden Hall had refused  
to sell them to such a terrible fate. Since the fall of Sauron and Mordor, the  
security afforded by the Reunified Kingdom had prompted people’s desire to see  
lands that were once forbidden to them. This need for travel had caused people  
to seek out swifter means of travel and to that end; Rohan’s horses were eagerly  
sought.  
  
Lothiriel had never been much of a rider which was part of the reason she seldom  
left home and was virtually unknown to her cousins in Gondor. However, if she  
were to be Eomer’s wife, Lothiriel realised she would have to learn. Her first  
few weeks in Edoras had been spent riding and now she was comfortable enough to  
ride alone. Since Eomer had left Edoras, Lothiriel had continued her efforts to  
become more comfortable in the saddle and one of her practices had in the  
morning was to take a ride in the magnificent horse plains surrounding Edoras.  
  
“I am more than capable of riding on my own captain,” Lothiriel said impatiently  
as she rode through the field of tall grass with three Rohirrim guards.  
  
“I am more than aware of that my lady,” Vorigen, the captain of the guard at the  
Golden Hall replied smoothly. He remembered with some fondness how his  
predecessor would have the same conversation with Lady Eowyn when she resided in  
Edoras and considered himself fortunate that Lothiriel was nowhere that  
spirited. “However, we have not received any word from the king in a number of  
days and following the intelligence of the Rangers that there is something odd  
in the behaviour of the Dunlendings they observed, I would prefer not to risk  
your safety.”  
  
“He is well,” Lothiriel stated firmly, determined not to take Vorigen’s words  
about Eomer’s silence as a sign of ill tidings regarding her love’s fate.  
  
“Of course he is,” Vorigen answered with genuine belief. “I do not believe that  
the King could survive the War of the Ring only to fall prey to Dunlendings  
rogues. He will return soon enough with their heads at the end of his sword.”  
  
“A disturbing picture,” Lothiriel said with a slight frown, “but I think you are  
right.”  
  
They rode through the idyllic terrain, admiring the majesty of the White  
Mountains in the background of Edoras as it sat high upon the hill, overlooking  
the horse plains and the grasslands. It was a pleasant day with the sun shining  
enough warmth for it to be enjoyable but not uncomfortable. There was a faint  
trace of dried grass and pollen in the air which did not affect her as much as  
she thought it would. Lothiriel ran her hand over the neck of her horse, earning  
a slight nicker of satisfaction from the steed and was pleased that she was  
developing something of a relationship with the best who was called Star because  
of the white flare shaped in a star on the bridge of his nose.  
  
“I have been in the service of the Golden Halls for almost a decade my lady,”  
Vorigen smiled, “I am accustomed to seeing the king returning when we believed  
the worst.”  
  
“I will trust your judgement….”Lothiriel started to say but never managed to  
finish the sentence because a spear burst through Vorigen’s chest and splattered  
Lothiriel with blood. Lothiriel screamed in fright as Vorigen tumbled from the  
saddle, dead before he even touched the ground. They appeared out of the grass  
as if they had been hiding there waiting. Her other two escorts immediately  
unsheathed their swords to attack but were of little match for the scouting  
party that had unwittingly crossed their path. Lothiriel counted at least six  
men who were obviously Dunlending tribesmen. She had never seen one before but  
the descriptions of this warlike barbarian race left no doubt in her mind of  
their identity.  
  
“It’s a scouting party!” One of the Rohirrim warriors exclaimed.  
  
They felled the two warriors with her easy enough and turned their gaze to the  
young women, their eyes narrowing with sinister intent. It was all the incentive  
Lothiriel needed to dig her heels into the flanks of her anxious horse and set  
the beast running. However, they were anticipating her flight and as she felt  
the wind in her hair at her sudden departure and dared to hope at her escape,  
Star’s head reared up in pain. Lothiriel last thought before she was thrown out  
of the saddle was the arrow that had embedded itself into the animal’s hide.  
  
She hit the dirt hard and felt her shoulder ache in pain at the landing but  
suffered no more injuries than that. The lady was grateful for that one  
consolation though she did not believe for an instant that she was safe.  
Scrambling to her feet, she saw them approach her slowly, stalking her like a  
pack of wolves about to converge upon a helpless fawn. She saw them lick their  
lips in anticipation, the sneers across their dirt covered face and knew that it  
was a far worse fate then death that awaited her if she did not get away from  
them this instant.  
  
“This can be done with great pain or this can be done easily my pretty,” one of  
them spoke as he leered at her with blatant lust.  
  
“Cur,” Lothiriel hissed feeling a surge of venom coursing through her. “You will  
not lay one hand upon me, not unless you wish to die.”  
  
“You are a spirited one,” he grinned and Lothiriel’s cheeks flamed with outrage  
when the others laughed.  
  
She saw them approaching and knew her window of opportunity was dwindling  
quickly. Closing her eyes, she could think of only one way to protect herself.  
Since the incident with the shape shifters, her devotion to magic had lessened  
because she knew how dangerous the world of spells could be after seeing its  
mischief first hand. However, she had also been responsible for breaking the  
terrible spell that had overcome the minds of Middle Earth’s rulers. Following  
that day, she found her ability had improved much and while she would never be  
an Istar like Gandalf or Pallando, Lothiriel knew enough to save herself from  
situations like this.  
  
She searched her mind quickly for the spell required and spoke the incantation  
quickly, all the time preparing herself to run because she did not know how much  
of a delay it would provide, if any at all if she failed. The words halted the  
Dunlending in their tracks because they were a superstitious lot and they  
recognised its substance even if they did not understand its content. They  
started to retreat in fear but Lothiriel was no longer paying attention; her  
mind was too fixed upon the spell she was reciting.  
  
She heard them scream and did not listen, hardening her heart to their cries as  
they became more desperate. Even Star, who lay wounded on the ground was  
neighing in distress, its animal senses more attuned to the magic than even  
Lothiriel herself. The lady of Dol Amroth continued her invocation until the  
voices were silent and the spell had finally spoken its last. When she opened  
her eyes, she found herself alone.  
  
Aware that there could be only one cause of this, she ambled forward shakily,  
her eyes searching the grassy plains until she caught sight of the new patches  
of bare dirt. Fingers protruded from the newly turned soil, clawing at the air  
like a man drowning in a lake, only this one was made of sand not water.  
Lothiriel felt as if she would retch, knowing that she had killed these men but  
the guilt over their deaths passed by quickly when she remembered what one of  
her escorts had said before he was killed.  
  
A scouting party.

If these men were the scouts, where then were the rest of their company?  
  
Lothiriel started running, leaving her injured horse behind because she realised  
unless she returned to the Golden Hall and warn them of what she knew, Edoras  
was going to learn the hard way.  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter Six: The Lady of Edoras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed a bold plan, an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war.Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose.

  
Running faster than she had ever been forced to run in her life, Lothiriel  
returned to the Golden Hall shortly before dusk. Terrified that she would be  
caught in the darkness alone, Lothiriel made every effort to reach Edoras before  
the sun set over the horizon. She was not accustomed to making such journeys on  
foot but since her visit to Minas Tirith during the disastrous treaty  
celebration, Lothiriel was learning that the boundaries for her personal  
achievements were not as limited as she once believed. However, in this  
instance, she was spurred on by more than just fear for her safety but the  
desire to reach Edoras and warn them of the Dunlending scout party that had  
waylaid her and her escorts.  
  
She arrived in Edoras, so completely dishevelled that for a moment, the soldiers  
who came upon her were gripped by the worst suspicions. Fortunately, the lady  
herself was able to allay their fears that nothing more sinister than a rough  
trek across open country was the reason for her ragged state. Still out breath  
from her arduous journey, Lothiriel managed to reveal in stilted speech the  
incident that had seen the death of Vorigen their commander and two of their  
comrades as well. At first, they were hesitant to believe the situation could  
be as dire as she believed it to be and Lothiriel could appreciate that it may  
be possible that she could have misread the ramifications of the encounter. It  
did not aid matters much when they learnt how she had managed to escape the  
Dunlending party.  
  
However, three dead men was nothing to dismiss and Vorigen’s lieutenant, a young  
man named Reonel, who now found himself Captain of the Guard, despatched a  
number of warriors to investigate the scene of the incident and make a more  
adequate determination of the situation. Lothiriel watched them go, praying that  
she would be proven wrong but her instincts told her that she was not and she  
had come to trust herself in recent months to know danger when she sensed it.  
After their departure, she retired to her room where she was provided with a hot  
bath and a meal.  
  
“Don’t worry dear,” Glyneth, the portly matron who had been a housekeeper in the  
Golden Hall since the days of King Theoden, declared optimistically as she  
poured more hot water into the tub Lothiriel was presently soaking in “We’ve  
seen some dark days in Edoras, even before the war with Mordor and things have  
always turned out all right. Why, I remember when that no good Wormtongue used  
to skulk around here, whispering terrible things into the Theoden’s ear and  
turning him against everyone who cared about him, even young King Eomer. Of  
course, he loved Theoden like a father and wouldn’t let anything stop him from  
doing what’s right, even it meant making Theoden angry.”  
  
“I hope he is well,” Lothiriel said softly, gazing into the soapy water, though  
she saw little of it.  
  
“King Eomer knows how to take care of himself,” Glyneth said reassuringly,  
secretly delighted that the young woman whom the king so obviously loved (even  
if he was too foolishly male to admit it), was just as devoted to him as he was  
to her. “Do you know that he was one of the youngest men to become Third  
Marshall of Riddermark? I can’t tell you how proud Theoden was! He raised Eomer  
and Theodred together you know, so it was just as if he had two sons, not one.”  
  
Lothiriel listened to Glyneth giving detailed accounts of Eomer’s younger days,  
having become accustomed to such stories since her arrival in Edoras. Like any  
royal court, Lothiriel had come to learn that it was the servants, heralds,  
stewards and maids who often had a clearer perception of how things functioned  
in the palace. Through gossip, they also had a wealth of information about the  
people who presumed to lord over them. Fortunately, it was clear from what she  
had overheard and been told directly since coming to visit in Edoras, that Eomer  
was a king greatly loved by its people.  
  
When she finally retired for the night, Lothiriel found she could not sleep.  
  
Despite her best efforts to force herself into the dreamscape, slumber stayed  
maddeningly elusive. She tossed and turned in her sheets, annoyed because she  
had certainly earned the rest after what she had endured during the day. Yet her  
mind could not let go of this feeling of growing dread that something was  
lurking upon the horizon, something that felt sleep was not a luxury she could  
afford at this time. When it did finally come, her sleep was restless and  
plagued with unsettling dreams that were no doubt derived from her waking  
anxieties.  
  
A harsh pounding on the door in the dead of night tore her from this  
uncomfortable repose and Lothiriel would have almost been grateful if the reason  
for her abrupt awakening was anything but what she suspected it was. Climbing  
out of her bed, Lothiriel snatched a robe as she hurried to answer the door.  
Her mind was still somewhat disorientated from her abrupt rousing but the fog  
was descending swiftly and with clarity came the realization that she could hear  
more than just the knocking at the door. Muffled by the journey through the  
walls, the sounds beyond her private chambers spoke of panic and fear. Excited  
voices were parrying back and forth, like the footsteps moving up and down the  
various corridors within the Golden Hall.  
  
Something was happening and Lothiriel felt her heart sink because it could be  
only one thing.  
  
When she swung the door open, she found herself staring at Reonel. There was  
blood on his tunic and grime on his face. The heavy musk of sweat was on his  
skin, an indicator that he had ridden hard on his journey back to Edoras.  
Without requiring him elaborate, Lothiriel knew he no longer viewed her claim as  
anything but genuine. He believed because he had seen for himself.  
  
The enemy was coming.  
  
“It appears you were correct my lady, the men who attacked you were indeed a  
scouting party,” he announced sombrely.  
  
“That is unfortunate,” Lothiriel sighed, her shoulders sagging.  
  
“We found a second party of Dunlendings when we returned to the place you were  
attacked. I believe they were attempting to retrieve their comrades’ body to  
maintain the secret of their presence here. It is extremely fortunate that you  
left your horse to return here on foot. If they had found you, they would surely  
have killed you.”  
  
Lothiriel shuddered at the thought but found no comfort in this when it was very  
possible that any proclamations of her safety might be premature. “Are we in  
danger?” She asked quietly, her question direct enough to indicate that she  
wanted no shielding from the truth.  
  
“We captured and questioned them,” Reonel replied with the frank honesty she  
desired and hoped it was not a mistake. “They were reluctant to speak the truth  
but we managed, through the course of night, to convince them otherwise.”  
  
Lothiriel needed no clarification on how they were able to convince the  
Dunlending prisoners to reveal their true purpose. She was the daughter of a  
royal house and she knew the ugly business of torture even in her sheltered  
world. It was a loathsome practice but when the fate of so many hung in the  
balance, there was little choice but to employ its brutality.  
  
“Vorigen was right? They were a scouting party?” Lothiriel prompted him to  
speak.  
  
“Yes,” he nodded. “They were scouting for an army that has taken refuge within  
the range of the White Mountains behind Edoras. It is hard, hilly terrain, with  
no roads or settlements. I believe they chose to come this way for they knew we  
would not scout it ourselves. Those mountains have always provided us with  
protection, not a safe haven from which enemies could launch an attack upon us.”  
  
“But was not the king riding to meet Lord Bowen to intercept the Dunlendings?”  
Lothiriel inquired, even more fearful for her love’s safety if this was so.  
  
“This is not the time to discuss it my lady,” Reonel declared evasively. “We  
fear our discovery of the Dunlendings may accelerate their plans for attack. We  
are preparing to defend the city and that means you and the rest of the women  
must get to safety. If you will ready yourself, I will escort you below.”  
  
It was clear that Reonel was prepared to discuss nothing further until she did  
as he asked and so Lothiriel conceded any effort to question him further. In  
the course of her life, there had been many occasions when she had been  
sequestered away while the people she loved fought terrible battles beyond sight  
and hearing. Although she had been in Edoras but a short time, Lothiriel had  
made it her business to become familiar with the faces that occupied her king’s  
world. As much as she loved him, Lothiriel was forced to concede that it was  
not simply a wife that he needed at his side, but also a queen.  
  
As she withdrew into her chambers and proceeded to get dressed, Lothiriel  
thought about her situation in passing. Of course she knew that the choice of  
her husband was never going to be quite her own. A daughter of a noble house was  
only good to the kingdom in the alliances that could be forged by marriage. She  
knew that while dowries had not been discussed yet, at some point this would  
become an issue between Imrahil and Eomer. To Lothiriel it was a fact of life  
that was seldom discussed by Westernesse women of royal birth. Indeed she had  
been somewhat surprised by the distaste Queen Arwen had displayed over the  
entire notion.  
  
Perhaps it was her rebellion against this institution of marriage that had  
inspired her interest in magic, for becoming an istar would mean freedom from  
the perceived slavery of marriage that would be her lot in the years to come.  
Even though it had taken a great deal to tax Imrahil’s patience, inwardly,  
Lothiriel knew that one day she might become a pawn in the games of political  
alliances. Imrahil’s insistence she marry Eomer was however, partly her fault.  
He had been a doting parent and she had often pushed the limits of acceptable  
behaviour. Despite her adamant refusal to marry Eomer in the beginning,  
Lothiriel knew she had little choice in the matter. Her father could have  
married her to anyone he liked and that would have been the end of it.  
  
When she met Eomer for the first time, Lothiriel understood that her father  
still loved her dearly despite his harsh edict that she would marry whether or  
not she preferred it. Contrary to her worst fears, Imrahil’s choice of husband  
was not some fat, war mongering ogre but rather a young and handsome king, not  
much older than she, who had was unaccustomed to being around women of noble  
birth and had been sufficiently prepared by a fiercely independent sister to  
tolerate a wife of similar nature. Imrahil knew his daughter far better than  
Lothiriel apparently knew him because he had not only found her a husband but  
also someone he knew she could love.  
  
Once she was dressed, Lothiriel emerged into the corridor, delivering herself  
into the hands of Reonel who promptly led her away from the section of the  
Golden hall relegated for guests. The palace was a flurry of activity as the  
mass exodus of women and children were made. Guests and servants alike were  
being ushered through the halls of Meduseld towards the catacombs beneath the  
city. The construction of these had begun shortly after the War of the Ring.  
Remembering how close Rohan had come to falling under the might of Saruman’s  
forces; Eomer had embarked upon a crusade to fortify Rohan from enemies. This  
included the creation of more watchtowers, more settlements and the expansion of  
the Rohirrim forces. Edoras as well had not escaped unscathed.  
  
The city itself had always stood upon a hill overlooking the horse plains and  
grasslands, with the shelter of the White Mountains surrounding it on most  
sides. During the orogeny of the region, that is the period of mountain  
building, the hill upon which Edoras was built had been a part of the White  
Mountains itself. However through the eons, erosion had worked persistently to  
disconnect it from the rest of the range and the result was an island of igneous  
rock that had all the geological characteristics of a mountain but none of its  
size. It was only in recent years that these characteristics could be exploited  
for beneath the earth of Meduseld was a series of catacombs that were extremely  
solid and deep enough to provide a hiding place during instances of attack.  
  
When the Dark Elf, Eol had laid siege to Edoras using the remnants of the Uruk  
Hai forces belonging to Saruman, most of Edoras’ women and children had found  
safety within these caves and now that the danger was rekindled in the form of a  
Dunlending attack. By the time Lothiriel and Reonel arrived at this hidden  
enclave, they were a part of a small procession comprising of women and  
children, from either junctures of the social spectrum who had attached  
themselves to the Captain of the Guard as he was leading their potential queen  
to safety.  
  
It was unknown who had first coined the term ‘catacombs’ for the caverns that  
existed deep beneath the mountainous island of Edoras but the name held fast and  
in time, it became known as nothing less. While it was hardly the ideal hiding  
place for a lady of her status in its comforts, there could be no doubt that  
deep within the heart of Edoras, this place could offer them protection if the  
worst came to pass. To reach the catacombs, one had to navigate the maze like  
tunnels to arrive at a small, nondescript door that could only be found if one  
knew where to look for it. With the aid of the dwarves of Aglarond who knew far  
more than anyone else how to fortify places in the deep dark, the entrance to  
the sanctuary was virtually impossible to find.  
  
The catacombs were dark and imposing and as Lothiriel felts its walls  
surrounding her, she could not help but shudder in fear a little at spending the  
next few hours in such close confines. However, she kept her apprehension to  
herself for she had to be strong. There was enough fear pressing against the  
walls of this dungeon without her adding her own to it. Lothiriel was also  
conscious that despite the absence of any announcement of betrothal between  
them, all of Edoras knew what she meant to Eomer. In this present state of  
uncertainty, Lothiriel knew that at present, she may be the nearest thing the  
Meduseld had in the way of a queen and if she was thought of as such, then  
Lothiriel felt compelled to comport herself in a manner befitting the Lady of  
Edoras.  
  
The inside of the catacombs were in no way lavish accommodations to spend the  
interminable hours where they awaited with grave fears the conclusion to the  
battle that would soon rage above their heads in the rest of the city. There  
were adequate supplies to see them through the siege, with water, food and  
blankets provided to ease them through the ordeal they would endure whilst being  
in its confines. The caves were very deep and just how deeply they delved was  
unknown to anyone but there was no doubt that the main entrance was the only way  
in.  
  
Though this was not always a good thing.  
  
***********  
  
With their wives and children hidden away safely, as safely as a city under  
siege could be, the men of Edoras set about with the defense of their home. The  
Dunlendings had surrounded Edoras in a ring of steel, scaling the mountains that  
had always been a source of protection to the people of the Golden Hall and  
ensuring that the city would be assailed on all sides. Unaware that in  
Lossarnach, a similar situation was unfolding, the Rohirrim warriors quickly  
rallied the folk of Edoras to launch a formidable defense.  
  
The militia and foot soldiers took up the business of defending the walls facing  
the mountains. The Dunlendings invaders had spent much of their time in the  
Misty Mountains, outcast from their tribes and hiding from their enemies. They  
were accustomed to battle in such terrain and were more than capable of using  
the steep mountain paths to find their way into Edoras. Thus the defenders of  
the Golden Hall found themselves positioned along the high walls of the city,  
preparing for the enemy onslaught with swords, spears and arrows. Cauldrons of  
hot oil were being prepared to use against the invaders when the inevitable  
attempt to scale the walls was made

Even though it was night and the moon was full, the famed horse plains were  
filled with the light of a hundred torches, firebrands marking the darkness of  
Edoras’ plight. The Rohirrim wasted no time in rushing out to meet the enemy  
despite their numbers being less than what they were. There were still enough  
of them to ensure that the Dunlendings paid in blood for their decision to  
attack Meduseld. In recent years, Edoras had faced worse things than the rabble  
of their Dunland neighbors even if agents of the Easterling Confederacy spurred  
them on.

Riders had already been sent out to the rest of the Rohirrim, carrying messages  
to the rest of the Rohirrim at large, informing them of Edoras’ peril and the  
absence of the King who had been led into a Dunlending trap. The king’s  
whereabouts were still unknown but the people of Edoras knew their king and  
refused to believe that a veteran who had survived the War of the Ring with such  
distinction would be taken so easily by any ruse. The king was alive and once he  
discovered the subterfuge of his enemies, would be returning to them with great  
haste. Of this, none of them had any doubt.  
  
It was only a matter of time.  
  
*************  
  
The sounds of battle penetrated the deep caverns of the catacombs where the  
women of Edoras awaited in their dimly lit sanctuary trying not to think too  
deeply about their fates should the tide turn in favour of the enemy. Despite  
the muffled noise emanating through the rock, an occasional burst would pierce  
through their protective shell and provide them with a stark reminder that while  
they were hidden, they were nowhere safe. Strangely enough, Lothiriel was not  
as anxious as the rest of their companions during this period of limbo. As the  
daughter of a royal house, the business of being sequestered away in this manner  
was not new to Lothiriel since Dol Amroth had from time to time; found itself  
besieged by the Easterlings or Mordor during Sauron’s dark reign. It was only  
the place that had changed.  
  
After a few hours, the boredom of huddling together in the dark, wondering  
whether or not they would live or die had taxed the patience of most and as it  
was with all of humankind when times were at their worst, the refugees of Edoras  
began to occupy themselves by making the best of their situation. Lothiriel  
found that she was the sole focus of questions from those around her as they  
looked to her for leadership. It unnerved Lothiriel to realise that they were  
already regarding her as their future queen, even though her relationship with  
Eomer was still undeclared. There had been no announcement of betrothal and the  
absence of the king, despite Lothiriel’s hope that he was well, placed her  
future status among them in even more question.  
  
Yet she supposed that in such trying times, it was necessary to look to someone  
to whom they hoped could offer them strength even if their faith in her was  
somewhat misplaced. Lothiriel felt just as much anxiety as they did but was  
determined that in the absence of Eomer, she would try to do her best for his  
people and offer them whatever light they needed in this dark hour.  
  
Thus, she saw to their inquiries as best she could, answering their questions  
and offering advice where it was needed, using her mother’s example as a guide.  
Lothiriel issued instructions to Glyneth who ordered the servants to distribute  
the supplies to those who needed them and to make everyone as comfortable as  
possible for the duration of time in this confinement. It was surprising how  
much assistance remembering her mother’s behaviour during these times provided  
and Lothiriel tried to project the air of confidence needed to instil the others  
with a sense of hope that they would survive this ordeal. She was rather  
grateful that her recent adventure in Minas Tirith had given her character some  
much-needed steel.  
  
Inwardly however, she wished it were the Lady of Dol Amroth who was taking  
charge of this anxious group.  
  
It was following the evening meal and though they had lost some sense of time,  
it was generally believed to be evening because the fighting had abated  
somewhat. Yet, the cessation of noise did not signify the end of the hostilities  
and until someone came to retrieve them, they could be certain of nothing. Thus  
the gathering resigned themselves to the fact that they would probably remain  
here for rest the night. Scattering themselves throughout the large chamber  
near the entrance, distributed blankets were spread across the hard rock.  
Fortunately, the interior of the chamber was rather dry and though the air was  
musty, it was somewhat tolerable.  
  
“I wonder how long will it last?” Glyneth asked no one in particular.  
  
“The longer the better,” claimed Odrade, wife to Carleon, the Third Marshall of  
the Mark. Her disposition, Lothiriel found since becoming acquainted with the  
woman, was nowhere as sunny as her golden coloured hair. Her tongue was sharp  
and it was clear that her marriage to Carleon had not been of her choosing since  
she regarded her husband with an air of indifference.  
  
“I do not wish to remain here any longer than necessary,” sniffled Katren,  
Bowen’s youngest daughter who had been sent to Edoras as a possible lady in  
waiting for Lothiriel. Unfortunately, the girl was terribly homesick and despite  
Lothiriel’s efforts to accommodate this, she and Katren had not struck up the  
strength of bond that was necessary for such an attachment. Thus Lothiriel had  
whispered in Eomer’s ear that perhaps it was time she was sent home since she  
did not appear at all happy to be so far from her family.  
  
“We are far safer here then we are above,” Lothiriel commented, attempting to  
offer her companions some much needed optimism. “If the Dunlendings have  
Easterling agents among them, then it will be a battle of great ferocity and it  
is best that we remain here and out from underfoot.”  
  
“It is a terrible place to wait out this ordeal,” Katren’s eyes swept across the  
roof of the cavern and her nose wrinkled in disgust.  
  
“I have been in worse,” Lothiriel remarked with an enigmatic smile, remembering  
how she had followed the Queen of Gondor through the sewers beneath the palace  
during the business with the shape shifters.  
  
“Worse than this?” Odrade stared at her sceptically. “When would a daughter of  
Dol Amroth know such unfortunate circumstances?”  
  
Lothiriel could sense the derision in her voice and ignored it, choosing not to  
flinch at the edge of the cutting remark.  
  
“Far more than you would think,” Lothiriel replied coolly, not about to react in  
kind. This was hardly the time for such quibbling. “Dol Amroth lies far closer  
to Mordor than Rohan. We have greater experience with the Nameless One and his  
allies than anyone, save perhaps Gondor. During their attacks, our people were  
often forced into hiding.”  
  
“You went to the treaty ceremony in the White City,” Katren asked, “Did you see  
them? The Easterlings? Were they truly barbarians?”  
  
Lothiriel winced inwardly at the remark for she remembered Castigliari, the good  
man who had been put to death because he had followed his conscience, instead of  
his loyalty to the king. She did not think he was a barbarian and despite the  
ferocity of the Easterlings, Lothiriel knew that they were a people who were as  
civilised as any, even if their ways were sometimes alien.  
  
“They came from a harder world than ours,” Lothiriel spoke a moment later after  
thinking carefully how she should answer, “remember that they have been under  
the yoke of Sauron for many ages and before Sauron there was Morgoth. I do not  
think they have ever had the freedom to be anything than what they are. War is  
all they know because that is how the dark lords had willed them to be.”  
  
“You give them far more charity than they deserve,” Odrade snorted in dislike to  
Lothiriel’s view of them.  
  
“If this is to be a permanent peace amongst the peoples of Middle earth then it  
is necessary for us to view others for what they are, instead of what we wish  
them to be. This war will be over and lasting peace will weigh heavily upon how  
we regard those we defeat. If we treat them badly or make them pay for warring  
upon us then we will only breed their contempt and precipitate another conflict  
in the future.” Lothiriel answered, surprising herself with how much of  
political acumen she had absorbed after listening to her father talk of politics  
throughout the years.  
  
“I think it is far wiser to break them,” Odrade declared. “After all, they will  
not show us the same consideration if we are the losers. Did you not hear what  
they did at Lebethron? They murdered the entire village, men, women and  
children. The women they violated first. Can you really advocate mercy for such  
atrocities?”  
  
“I do not think that there is any easy answer,” Lothiriel answered, feeling just  
as much disgust for what had been done to the small Gondorian township. “I do  
not that vengeance will not bring back the dead nor will it make for any lasting  
peace.”  
  
“I wonder if you would be so compassionate if the king really is dead,” Odrade  
met her eyes.  
  
“Do not say that!” Glyneth exclaimed with unabashed horror and her reaction  
rippled through the faces of those who had heard Odrade’s words. “The king  
lives!”  
  
“He was led away from Edoras days before we are attacked, I do not think that it  
was a coincidence,” she insisted. “This was by someone’s design.”  
  
“Perhaps you are right,” Lothiriel said in a calm voice, not wanting to show  
weakness by displaying her very considerable fears for Eomer’s safety.  
“However, I have faith in my king to extricate himself from any predicament.”  
  
“Your king?” Odrade raised a brow, “you are not even betrothed yet.”  
  
That remark, even more than fears for Eomer’s safety, cut at her but Lothiriel  
need not have spoken out to defend herself since there was others to do it for  
her.  
  
“I do not think that there is anyone in court who doubts the king’s feelings for  
you, my lady,” Glyneth declared firmly, not addressing Odrade’s slight directly  
but determined to speak up for Lothiriel. “It is this business with the  
Easterlings delaying his hand. We all see how he looks at you and you are the  
first woman he had ever shown such interest.”  
  
“Thank you,” Lothiriel answered giving Glyneth a warm smile, “it was a mutual  
choice for us to delay. Arranged marriages are often such a trial and though we  
like each other well enough, we wanted to know one another a little better  
before taking any permanent steps.”  
  
Odrade said nothing, momentarily cowed but Lothiriel could see that she was  
sceptical about things remaining so amicable when the marriage had been forged  
by someone else’s design. Lothiriel turned away from the woman, deciding that  
she cared little of what Odrade truly thought because the woman’s acidic words  
had brought to surface the fears Lothiriel had been harbouring at Eomer’s  
welfare. She had managed to suppress it for most of her time in this confinement  
but now it had returned with a vengeance and the Lady of Dol Amroth could think  
of nothing else.  
  
Closing her eyes shut, Lothiriel offered a silent prayer to her gods that Eomer  
was alive because she would be good to no one here if she believed he was not.  
  
************  
  
Prayers were offered elsewhere that night in Edoras, with the same hope and  
longing. Warriors watching their friends die, determined that their efforts to  
hold their city would not fail and keeping faith that they would prevail, made  
similar offerings to the deities they worshipped with reverence. The length and  
breath of the city was an expression in violence as Dunlendings forces swept  
into the Golden Hall and the battle for Edoras moved from its fortifying walls  
to the very heart of Meduseld.  
  
The defenders had put up a valiant effort to hold off the invaders but the  
Dunlendings were too adept at traversing mountain terrain for the Rohirrim to  
keep them at bay. It was impossible to completely seal off the cradle of  
mountains in which Edoras stood when the number of the enemy determined to  
breach Edoras was so great. Militia and infantry did what they could, ensuring  
that the Dunlendings paid in blood for every inch of their advance and even  
though they had managed to penetrate the city, Edoras was by no means taken.  
  
Thus the fighting moved into Edoras proper, in the streets and within the  
abandoned buildings. Like an infestation of ants, the Dunlendings were soon to  
be found everywhere and they were aided in part by Easterlings, who were easily  
recognised by their dark skin and gold adorned bodies. Not since the battle  
against the Uruk Hai at Helm’s Deep had Edoras fought in such a savage conflict  
with every street corner and every square becoming yet another arena. Swords  
clanged loudly as warriors battled each other in taverns and in shops,  
splattering places that were the height of civilisation with blood and carnage.  
The streets began to fill with corpses of the fallen. In death the warriors of  
both factions found some common ground as they lay next to each other, blood  
mingling in pools across the cobblestone pave.  
  
Outside the city walls, the Rohirrim cavalry were faring much better as they cut  
down the Dunlending forces with ruthless efficiency. As cavalrymen, the Rohirrim  
had no peer in Middle earth In large numbers; their ability to cut a swathe  
through enemy ranks was nothing less than devastating for they were not only  
fierce warriors but extremely expedient ones. In battle, the Rohirrim’s ferocity  
could only be equalled by the Haradrim and never was this more evident then at  
this moment when they battled their Dunlending tribes with only a shadow of  
their usual strength.  
  
The rogue Dunlending tribesmen who were not dead on the plain were quickly  
fleeing towards the safety of the Edoras. Within its walls, they could take  
advantage of the closed surroundings and avoid the onslaught of the Rohirrim  
warriors. The riders of Rohan gave swift chase, cutting down those who were  
making their way towards the Golden Hall before they could escape. With the  
shifting in battlefield, the Rohirrim abandoned the defence of the outer  
perimeter and took their fight to Edoras itself.  
  
The riders of Rohan were no less fearsome warriors when they were out of the  
saddle. As discovered by Saruman and all the enemies of Rohan before him, the  
ability to these formidable warriors to defend their home against any threat was  
nothing to take lightly. As the Rohirrim pursued the Dunlending enemy into  
Edoras, they were just as ruthless within the close quarters of the city as they  
were on the battlefield beyond the city walls. The arena of their conflict may  
have altered but the results did not differ greatly.  
  
************  
  
When the first sounds were heard, Lothiriel thought that perhaps the fighting  
had drawn to a close and that they were to be liberated from their confinement  
at long last. Yet above her head, she could hear the noises that corresponded  
too greatly with a pitched battle and suddenly the identity of the persons at  
the door took on an entirely different urgency. Happiness at liberation soon  
descended into anxiety when it became clear that whomever was on the other side  
of the wall did not know how to activate the mechanism that allowed the entrance  
to open. Scuffling feet and raised voices soon confirmed that their intruders  
were not of the Rohirrim but rather the Dunlending invaders.  
  
The reaction of the majority was one of great panic. Cries of fear though  
muffled were surely audible to the intruders and gave away their presence more  
clearly than the unopened entrance. Lothiriel had been just as frightened to  
discover that their refuge had been compromised and that all that protected them  
was a wall of rock, which the enemy were soon hard at work trying to breach.  
However, recent events in Gondor had taught the young woman that she was capable  
of more than she had once believed possible of herself and with that knowledge  
drew forth the courage needed to prevail.  
  
“We must move everyone to the back of the cavern,” Lothiriel explained when she  
was finally able to gain some measure of calm from those present.  
  
“What use is that if they know we are here?” Katren had demanded anxiously.  
While Odrade and Glyneth had managed to retain some sense about them, Katren who  
was younger and had less experience in such situations, was clearly showing the  
strain. Lothiriel would not have begrudged Katren her fear if it were not for  
the fact that her outward anxiety was also affecting the others people in the  
room and filling it with growing apprehension.  
  
“A great deal,” Lothiriel said trying to display more patience than should have  
been expected from someone of her youth. “The construction of this chamber owes  
a great deal of assistance to the dwarf folk and they know more about creating  
entrances than any race alive. If these walls are breached, it will be no way  
the fault of any door but rather our own. I fear our initial exclamations may  
have given them us away.”  
  
“What do we do?” Someone asked from the group.  
  
“Moving into the rear of the cavern is a good start,” Lothiriel repeated  
herself, drawing courage from Arwen Evenstar’s courage during the infiltration  
of Minas Tirith by the shape shifters. The Queen of Gondor had kept her head  
under the worst of circumstances and her leadership was not due to any great  
feats of dynamism like her husband but rather good common sense advice that  
Lothiriel would do well to emulate at this time. “If they think that we have  
another way out then perhaps they will leave to try and find it. Glyneth,”  
Lothiriel looked to the older woman, “can you please do that?”  
  
“Yes my lady,” Glyneth nodded slightly, wearing a little smile on her face  
because she was proud of the young woman’s efforts to take charge.

Lothiriel did not note this look of confidence upon Glyneth’s face because she  
was leading Odrade away. “I do not know whether or not this will hold true,” she  
said is a softer voice.  
  
“Yes,” Odrade nodded in agreement. “There are Dunlendings, they know the  
mountains even better than we do. These chambers were not charted to their  
fullest and though there was no passage found leading in here, we cannot be  
certain that they will not find one.”  
  
“We need to find a cavern that is sealed on all sides except one,” Lothiriel  
remarked, “then we should seal it behind us. If they do find their way in here,  
it will be all the protection that we have.”  
  
“We could try and leave,” Odrade suggested.  
  
“I do not think that it wise,” Lothiriel countered staring at the ceiling,” the  
fighting above appears fierce. If we emerge in the open, we may give the enemy  
an advantage that could cost the Rohirrim the battle. I fear women and children  
make good hostages.”  
  
Both women fell silent for a moment as Glyneth barked orders to the res of the  
group and prompted the departure from the main chamber. As they were leaving,  
there was suddenly a dull but loud thud against the wall. The sound reverberated  
throughout the cavern, sending shock waves of fear through those present and  
producing more cries of fear. The percussive sound was repeated and this time,  
small clouds of dust drifted to the floor after being shaken loose from the  
ceiling. Small rocks were starting to fall in sporadic intervals with each thud.

  
“Go!” Lothiriel cried out. “Quickly!”  
  
Her cry sent them running, amidst a flurry of frightened cries and stamping  
feet. Lothiriel and Odrade did not leave straight away; they lingered further to  
hear the dangerous creaking of the ceiling. The muffled sound of impact was  
becoming louder and lauder, as if the lack of success by the enemy to break  
through was firing their determination even more. More and more debris was  
shaking itself loose from the darkened corners of the cavern but it was the  
sound of cracking that gave Lothiriel the greatest cause for concern.  
  
“They may not break through,” Odrade replied, taking stock of the debris and  
dust that was filling the air with its choking particles, “but I do not think  
that we are in any less danger.”  
  
“You are right,” Lothiriel nodded, staring in horror somewhat at the fissures  
that were appearing across the ceiling. “They may not break though but they may  
bring down the cavern around our ears.”  
  
Just as she spoke, a large chunk of rock dislodged itself from the cavern  
ceiling and came to a thundering crash near them. Lothiriel and Odrade were  
barely able to throw themselves clear of the impact. Dust filled the air a like  
blankets of sand and both women were coughing loudly as they struggled to get to  
their feet, brushing off the fragments of rock that had dug into their skin.  
Fortunately, neither were seriously hurt though they were both very shaken.  
  
“We could be buried alive if this continues!” Odrade declared as she helped  
Lothiriel away from the path of any further debris.  
  
“We will be buried alive!” Lothiriel returned, trying to make herself heard over  
the pounding against the wall. “We must stop what they are doing!”  
  
“How do you propose to do that?” Odrade stared at her, wondering where the steel  
in this girl had suddenly emerged.  
  
Lothiriel did not speak for a moment because her eyes were searching the walls  
of the catacombs. She could feel the vibrations of rock grinding against rock in  
protest of the bombardment to which it was being subjected. Each time invaders  
attempted to collapse the wall, Lothiriel could see another fissure appear. The  
constructors of the cavern had been shrewd enough to ensure the entrance to the  
catacombs could not be found but there was no way they could fortify rock. It  
would have been a place of safety if the frightened voices had not given  
themselves away to the enemy who knew now that there was an entrance and were  
determined to bring down the wall that surrounded it if they could not find it.  
Perhaps in truth, after the battle of Helm’s Deep and then Uruk Hai invasion of  
Eol, none of the Rohirrim had expected their city to fall under attack again.  
  
“We must let them in,” Lothiriel answered softly.  
  
“Are you insane?” Odrade stared at her in nothing less than shock.  
  
“If we do not let them in, they will continue pounding against the walls under  
it brings down the entire chamber. We do not know if there is a way out of here  
but we cannot allow them to continue their bombardment.”  
  
“You cannot be thinking this!” Odrade protested. “Do you know what will happen  
to us if we let them in?”  
  
“I am perfectly aware of it,” Lothiriel returned, reacting to another crash  
against the wall and its corresponding effects. “However, we have little choice.  
Can you not hear them above? Our warriors are fighting for their lives up there  
and their thoughts are too preoccupied with the danger to the rest of the city  
to even conceive we are in danger. By the time, they realised that we are under  
threat it may be too late. Look at the ceiling!”  
  
Odrade followed Lothiriel’s gaze and saw that amidst the swirling clouds of  
dust, mighty cracks were forming in the walls of the chambers and it could not  
take much more pounding before the entire cavern gave way. As horrifying as the  
notion of allowing the enemy into their sanctuary, there was the even worse  
possibility of becoming buried alive in rock. If there was no other way out of  
the catacombs and like Lothiriel, Odrade suspected there was not, then they  
would be trapped with no way for even their own people to free them should they  
win the day.  
  
“What is it you wish us to do if we allow them in?” The woman asked Lothiriel.  
  
“I will need you to take them as far away from this chamber as possible,”  
Lothiriel said quietly, aware of what had to be done even though it frightened  
her to no end to do it.  
  
She had been steadily refining her abilities and had on previous occasions used  
them to save her life. She wondered if she could manage another feat of magic  
once again? And if she could, how would the people of Edoras view her? Since  
her arrival at the Golden Hall, Lothiriel had kept her knowledge of magic  
somewhat secret. She feared the disapproval of the people who may some day ask  
to look upon her as queen. Even when she had used her powers to survive the  
Dunlending ambush, Lothiriel had been reluctant to speak the truth. However,  
she no longer had a choice. If she were to save them, then she would have to use  
magic to do it.  
  
“To what end?” Odrade asked, staring at her in concern.  
  
“Do not ask questions of me,” Lothiriel returned her gaze with the hint of a  
plea in her eyes. “I need you to obey me in this. I know that I am not your  
queen and I have no right to order you to do anything but I beseech you, as a  
woman and as a daughter of a noble house to do as I ask.”  
  
Odrade drew in a deep breath and found herself trusting this young woman whose  
eyes showed not only her obvious fear but also her conviction. Whatever it was  
Lothiriel intended to do, Odrade found herself in the position of being forced  
to believe that she could do it by sheer will alone. “Once we have hidden  
ourselves, what then?”  
  
“Then I will deal with them,” Lothiriel answered firmly.  
  
“Deal with them?” Odrade looked at her sharply, “how?”  
  
“I have means,” she replied evasively. “However, it would be best done when you  
are all safely hidden away. I may yet fail in what I intend to do.”  
  
“What exactly would that be?” Odrade insisted, still sceptical about Lothiriel’s  
claim and reluctant to abandon her to the enemy, the woman that the entire court  
of Edoras expected to be the next queen of the Golden Hall.  
  
Lothiriel did not wish to elaborate and with the pounding growing more and more  
intense, the opportunity to do so was lost with the intermittent fragments of  
rocks that were breaking free from the ceiling around them. The wall was  
persistently holding firm but the enemy would not need to breach it in order to  
kill everyone inside. Their continuous bombardment would ensure that end far  
more effectively than any opening they could create in the rock.  
  
“There is no time to explain,” Lothiriel hissed. “Go now!”  
  
She ushered Odrade through the chambers and watched the woman disappear into the  
catacomb’s maze of tunnels.  
  
“May Elbereth walk with you,” Lothiriel said under her breath and added a moment  
later, “for she will not be with me after I have done this.”  
*************  
  
  
The king of the Mark returned to his city and found it in the midst of a life  
and death struggle.  
  
This was of no great surprise to Eomer since he had more or less anticipated an  
attack by the Dunlending tribes and had returned to Edoras with great haste in  
order to combat this offensive. Since discovering the remains of Bowen and the  
army that rode under the leadership of the Marshal of the Mark, Eomer had  
surmised that the alliance of goblins and Dunlending tribesman could have only  
one purpose, to bring down Edoras and Rohan as Saruman had once tried to do when  
he united them under the same banner. He and his riders had ridden hard to reach  
Edoras in time though he was much gratified to see upon his return to the Golden  
Hal, that his people were quite capable of defending themselves without his  
presence.  
  
Still, the return of their king had fed the fire of their spirit and not since  
the battle of Helm’s Deep had the Rohirrim been polarized with such a powerful  
desire to vanquish the foe. In the saddle or out of it, the Rohirrim warriors  
were nothing less than relentless in their thirst for victory. Great swords,  
arrows, pikes, hammers and other lethal weapons met each other in fearful  
warfare and the result was blood in every street, bodies covering the floor in  
such great numbers that it was hard to move. In close quarters combat, they  
could feel blades, limbs and the hot breath of the enemy pressing against them  
and it was a revolt that was paid for in blood.  
  
Eomer and the Rohirrim warriors at his side did not bother to dismount their  
horses, instead they rode through the gates that were flung open for their king.  
Eomer cleared a path through the enemy with his sword, cutting down those who  
were unfortunate enough not to get clear in time of his blade meeting their  
flesh. The others astride their horses carved a similar path of carnage with  
arrows. Moving forward in tight formation, the warriors knew how to use their  
mounts and their weapons to the best advantage. Forging a phalanx of swords  
astride their horses, they ensured that no arrow was capable of penetrating the  
wall of steel they created as they neared the Meduseld.  
  
By the time Eomer reached the heart of Edoras, the fighting had contracted to  
the walls of the Golden Hall. A good many Dunlendings had entered the palace in  
the hopes of securing hostages they may use to parlay their demands. However,  
their foothold was weak as it was more than likely than the women and children  
of Edoras were already secreted in the catacombs beneath the city. Still, those  
defences had yet to be tested under these circumstances and Eomer feared that  
the fortifications might not be as formidable as those to be found in Helm’s  
Deep.  
  
Upon reaching the Golden Hall, Eomer and the rest of the Rohirrim riders was a  
swarm of armoured bodies against the fur clad Dunlending wild men. The king of  
the Mark, still stinging from injuries received when they had encountered the  
goblins led the charge through the remaining warriors. He could hear the  
Dunlending war cry through the halls of Meduseld and fought his way up the steps  
of the royal palace overlooking the city.  
  
“Hurry!” Someone shouted on top of his lungs. “They are attempting to breach the  
catacombs!”  
  
Lothiriel!  
  
Eomer thought in panic and swung his blade with such a mighty stroke at the  
enemy before him that they were cut in half. Blood splattered across the ornate  
design of his armour as he turned to the men nearest to him and barked loudly at  
them to follow him. Knowing what their king intended as well as what was at  
stake, they pressed on through the fighting to reach his side and follow him  
into the Golden Hall. After all, it was their wives and children who were  
taking refuge beneath the city as well.  
  
***********

 

The door opened.  
  
The heavy stone slab scrapped loudly against the gravel-covered floor when the  
mechanism to activate it was finally set in motion. Lothiriel watched the  
entrance appear from the other side of the chamber, ensuring that she remained  
unseen as the prey passed through the doorway of rock. Hidden in the shadow of  
the dimly lit room, she could smell her fear as palpably as she could smell the  
terror of those cowering in the darkness further along the caverns. She hoped  
that they had hid well for if she failed, they would have no protection from the  
wild men moving deeper into the chamber.  
  
Lothiriel closed her eyes to settle her great terror at being alone with them.  
They had not seen her yet but it would not be long before that situation  
altered. Even now, she could hear their footsteps against the dirt growing  
louder with each passing second. The air that until now had been cool and dank  
suddenly became warm and lusty, producing beads of moisture against her forehead  
and beneath her nose. She knew that its cause was most likely her fear rather  
then the temperature but she gave no further thought on this because she had  
work to attend. Trembling so hard that it was near impossible to do what was  
necessary, Lothiriel forced herself to utter the chant and concentrate.  
  
They were coming!  
  
She could hear their approach and knew that in seconds they would discover her  
and when they did…  
  
Stop this! She told herself with surprising venom. Do what must be done or not  
you or anyone else will survive! Lothiriel closed her eyes shut, causing tears  
and sweat to run down her cheeks as she focussed hard, drawing all her strength  
and contracting it into a ball of thought that would see her will done. Her  
fists clenched, nails dug into her palms, drawing blood as flesh tore. Her lips  
muttered softly the words needed to be spoken. She dare not speak any louder  
because she feared alerting them to her presence but knew nothing would stop  
that once they were inside and they were, coming closer.  
  
The Dunlending wild men surged into the chamber, smelling the residue of bodies  
pressed closely together before the debris of dust and stone had masked a good  
deal of it away. Their eyes searched the dim light of the cavern and found  
quickly their prey, a lone female at the far end of the chamber, stricken with  
so much fear that her pale skin was almost white. They moved in closer,  
determined that she would be the first of many they would lay claim to when  
suddenly, the ground beneath them became soft as mud. Confusion set in as they  
began to sink, until they could feel sand filling their boots and swirling  
around their ankles.  
  
Confusion gave way to panic when it was discovered that they had not stopped  
sinking and the ground no longer had cohesion. Closely compacted earth suddenly  
developed the consistency of mud and their weight was dragging them into it with  
each step they took. Someone cried out to retreat but by then the sand was  
inching past their waists and the ground was rising up to meet them. Cries of  
indignation and disbelief soon degenerated into screams of terror as some  
realized the terrible end they were about to experience. Like men drowning, they  
clawed at the air as their bodies sunk deeper into the ground, too frightened by  
the dying to come to recognise that the person responsible for it was watching  
with just as much horror. They screamed and they fought desperately, making it  
no further across the chamber than the middle of it and as their voices grew  
hoarse and thready, it was silenced by the flow of sand into their open mouth.  
  
Lothiriel was weeping because she had not seen when she had first done it. She  
had closed her eyes shut and kept it that way until the deed was done. However,  
on this occasion, the number of them required concentrated and her sight. She  
had to watch to see it done properly. She was exhausted beyond reason for she  
was no Istar. She understood that she had some power, no doubt a legacy of her  
elven heritage but not enough to equal a true Istar like Gandalf the Grey or  
Pallando who now dwelt in Isengard. She saw their eyes wide with terror as  
their throats filled up with dirt, their fingers clawing desperately at the air  
even when their heads had disappeared into the ground and knew that she would  
never forget the sight of them for the rest of her life.  
  
When they were dead, when the screams were silent, Lothiriel who had been  
crouched low when she had conducted her spell, collapsed upon the dry earth  
weeping even harder. If she had killed them with a sword it could not have felt  
as bad as this moment, when she had used magic to extinguish the light of lives.  
She had only wished to help those around her with her abilities, to be more than  
simply another vapid noble women with no ambition other than to live a life of  
subservience to a husband. She had never wished however, to kill.  
  
She did not know how long she sobbed there in the dirt, oblivious to all until  
she heard more footsteps and raised her face, streaked in tears and dirt,  
thinking that perhaps more Dunlendings had come. If they killed her perhaps it  
was not undeserved. She had a great deal of blood on her hands even if none had  
been spilled. However, when she saw the faces coming into the light and who led  
them, she let out another loud sob. This one was not mired in anguish but rather  
relief.  
  
Eomer and the rest of his men saw the scene before them, the hands protruding  
from the earth as if someone had chosen to plant men in the ground the way one  
would do to seedlings. This was nothing less than sorcery and how this had come  
to pass was a matter of confusion to everyone but Eomer who knew what his lady  
was capable of, though he had never thought her strong enough to do this. It did  
not frighten him as much as worry him about what her state of mind would be  
after being forced into this position. She was gentle, his lady, incapable of  
intentionally hurting anyone unless she was driven to protect the people she  
loved.  
  
“Eomer!” She cried out, her voice half filled with happiness at seeing her and  
half anguished at his seeing what she had done.  
  
Eomer sheathed his sword and crossed the space between them in a matter of  
seconds. She ran into his arms, uncaring about propriety or gossip. Neither did  
the king care when he swept her into his embrace and held her close, knowing  
that in the wake of what he saw here, she would need one. Lothiriel buried her  
face in the crook of his shoulder and wept softly as the men around her king  
discreetly moved past them to search for more of their women, no doubt hiding in  
the catacombs.

”You are alive,” she whispered softly when they had parted, her lips quivering  
as she spoke. “I feared the worst when no word was heard from you.”  
  
“I would like to believe that it would take more than goblins to bring about my  
death,” he joked, making no attempt to remove his arms from her waist. Feeling  
her next to him was too good and suddenly brought home how precious she was to  
him. “Besides, how could I do anything as inconvenient as dying when I have you  
to return to?” He smiled, raising her chin so that she could see the depth of  
emotion reflected in his eyes.  
  
“Do you still want me, after what I have done?” She turned away, blinking tears  
down her cheeks as she regarded the dead men trapped beneath the earth.  
  
“What you have done,” Eomer replied, “is save yourselves from the ministrations  
of barbarians who would done great harm to you and the others taking refuge  
here. I do understand what you did was for the good of all.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to!” Lothiriel exclaimed, still horrified by what she had done.  
“But they started pounding at the walls and each time they struck it, the  
ceiling shook and began to crumble. I feared that if I did not do something, it  
would fall upon our heads and bury us all alive!”  
  
“I know,” Eomer said gently, seeing that the death of these men, even if  
deserved, preyed heavily upon her mind and reminded himself that all every  
warrior who was blooded for the first time reacted in a similar fashion. It was  
no small thing to take a life and though it may be necessary, it was never easy  
to one whose heart was good and noble. “I cannot say the words that will make  
this easier for you my love, but in times of war we must all do what is required  
of us. I know this was not easy for you to do but you have protected my people  
and yourself from harm and for that I cannot be anything but grateful for what  
you have done.”  
  
“Then I will try to feel put this behind me,” Lothiriel swallowed thickly,  
deciding that what was done was done and that there was nothing to do but live  
with the consequences. However, she knew deep in her heart that never again  
would she be able to look upon the business of magic as anything but a  
double-edged sword that had the power to not only create life but also destroy  
it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter Seven: The Choices of Legolas Greenleaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed a bold plan, an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war.Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose.

The Field of BattleChapter Seven  
The Choices of Legolas Greenleaf  
  
The retreat from Lossarnach was not even past the hour when Haradrim riders set  
out upon their fastest mounts to the encampment of their Easterling comrades.  
Since the destruction of Lebethron, the army responsible for the destruction of  
the small township had marched quickly to South Ithilien, taking refuge a good  
distance away from the colony of Eden Ardhon to avoid discovery whilst they  
awaited further orders. The orders from their leader during their last council  
of war before departing their lands had been clear. Once the destruction of  
Lebethron was complete, they would do nothing further until the word was given.  
  
To this end, they had been forced to wait in secret and it was no easy feat to  
accomplish because elves were known to be of keen eye and senses. Yet remain  
hidden they did, mostly in part because they were far enough away from the enemy  
to assure anonymity. Taking refuge in the hills flanking the Harad Road, they  
waited there patiently by the banks of the Poros, using the great river to  
sustain them and their mumakils. The beasts could have easily turned the tide  
of the battle in Lossarnach but their supreme commander had a better use for  
them to which every Easterling agreed once they understood his plan.  
  
Three riders set out from the Haradrim refuge at the foothills of the White  
Mountains. The journey would see them travelling along the flow of the Anduin  
before crossing the river into South Ithilien. They would avoid at all costs,  
the great wood where the elven folk of Eden Ardhon held dominion and continue to  
the camp of their Easterling brothers to give them the orders they had been  
awaiting for so long. The Easterlings were burning to fight and though their  
purpose in South Ithilien would be anything but a battle, the outcome meant as  
much as any great conflict fought between armies since the beginning of time.  
This had been a contingency planned since before they had set out from their  
homelands and it felt strangely satisfying to be finally given leave to set it  
in motion.  
  
Of the three that embarked upon the journey, only two were able to reach their  
destination some days later. It was anticipated that they might encounter  
difficulties along the way, which was why three had been sent instead of one.  
However, when one had failed to arrive at their destination, it mattered little  
because they care not who knew the content of the message carried. Time was  
with them and they knew that the armies of Gondor, Ithilien and Rohan were too  
preoccupied with concerns of their own to give them opposition when it came time  
for the Easterlings to move.  
  
The message spoke only a few words but it was more than enough. Orders and plans  
of attack had been formulated and issued long before the Easterling and their  
Haradrim allies had parted company. This occasion was no exception. Of all the  
attacks they had planned with elaborate devices set in place to deceive, this  
one in truth was the hardest and perhaps the greatest gamble of them all. How  
the Easterling attack was perceived by those who mattered, would decide the  
course of the war and the future of the Reunified Kingdom.  
  
They wasted no time once the message reached them, pausing long enough to  
familiarize themselves and their warriors with the plan of attack. Some had  
serious misgivings about what they were about to do. It was one thing to rape  
and pillage a small community of humans but quite another thing entirely to  
launch an offensive against an elven city, even a fledgling one. Far worse than  
the attack was the brutality that they were required to dispense once the attack  
was underway. The Easterlings were not by nature a barbarian race and while  
they viewed the destruction of Lebethron as a necessary evil, not many were  
entirely happy that they were driven to such savagery.  
  
The dawn’s light saw them setting out from their hiding place and knew that it  
would only be a matter of days before they at their destination. No longer  
afraid of moving in the light, these army would make great haste in its journey  
and arrive there well ahead of any other force, in the unlikely event there was  
any to be spared in these troubled times. They anticipated opposition but had  
sufficient numbers amongst them to overwhelm the enemy when they arrived. They  
knew their opponents well and had taken no chances with their ability to defeat  
such effective warriors. It had been almost three thousand years since the  
Easterlings had faced the enemy and the tales of their skill in battle was not  
to be underestimated. However, the Easterlings had ensured that this time,  
there would be no defeat.  
  
Because it would be the numbers that decided how the battle would play.  
  
  
**************  
  
Following the victory at Lossarnach, Aragorn had allowed for little more than a  
day of rest for himself before he embarked upon the business of dealing with the  
Haradrim army who was still roaming freely through Middle earth. The arrival of  
Faramir and the Rohirrim cavalry had turned the tide of the battle and though it  
took most of the night, they were finally capable of bringing the rampant fires  
under some kind of control. The toll upon Lossarnach however was considerable.  
There was not one corner of the city that had not been ravaged by destruction  
and as Aragorn found himself surveying the destruction when the last embers of  
flame had finally cooled, he knew that it would be a long time before the city  
could take its place as a centre of beauty once again.  
  
However, not all news was bad. They received word from Rohan that King Eomer had  
returned to Edoras safely and that a Confederacy inspired attack by Dunlending  
tribesmen had been thwarted with the wild men being annihilated by the Rohirrim  
warriors. There was also some unexpected assistance from the dwarves of  
Aglarond. Aware that their lord would approve of their actions, the dwarves had  
offered military aid in ridding the Rohirrim of the goblins who had slain Bowen  
and his army in the White Mountains. The dwarves, who were aware that the safety  
of Rohan was as much their business as the Rohirrim, had elected to join the  
conflict and ensure that no other race of the Black Speech took refuge in any  
mountain of Rohan.  
  
This news was a source of great pride to Gimli who was rather surprised that  
they would undertake such a course on their own volition but quickly claimed  
that dwarves were a sensible lot and they knew when they were needed in a fight.  
Meanwhile, Imrahil had taken the army towards Gondor, fortifying the defences  
around the White City in the event the enemy chose to make an attempt to invade  
Minas Tirith after its failure at Lossarnach. Faramir and the Rohirrim however,  
would be remaining Lossarnach and join the king in his hunt for the Haradrim  
enemy who appeared to have vanished from sight.  
  
“Well at least Rohan is safe,” Aragorn declared over the table that belong to  
the great hall of what was once Lord Fenreg’s castle. The young Steward was now  
one of the many hundreds that had been buried over the past days in the wake of  
the attack. “However, it concerns me greatly that the enemy was able to gain  
the support of the goblins of Moria.”  
  
“Their number is still large despite our best efforts to vanquish them,” Gimli  
frowned. He had led a party to expunge their infestation of Moria but like all  
vermin, they were difficult to exterminate completely. With so much dead already  
in Moria, the dwarves had chosen to abandon it to the ages rather than attempt  
to tame it. “Fortunately with the end of the Balrog, their desire to expand  
their borders seemed to have disappeared.”  
  
“I fear that will change,” Aragorn sighed. “This Haradrim king is no fool. He  
has drawn support from all our enemies, even the goblins of Moria. It is a good  
thing that your people had chosen to aid the Rohirrim Master Gimli. They could  
use the help.”  
  
“It is true,” Faramir agreed. “The Rohirrim are not mountain folk, they fight  
better in on plains. With the aid of your people Gimli, they can defend  
themselves a good deal better and you will be afforded their protection as  
well.”  
  
“Yes,” Gimli nodded. “A decidedly sensible arrangement for everyone concerned.  
My people are often reluctant to get involved in such battles but if we are to  
live in Rohan then we should be neighbourly about it.”  
  
“I am certain that Eomer will appreciate it,” Aragorn replied, taking a deep  
puff of his pipe. “I am glad to hear that he was unhurt.”  
  
“If his sister is anything to go by, they breed them tough in Rohan.” Gimli  
smiled as he downed a goblet of wine.  
  
“I will concur,” Faramir laughed and then become slightly reflective as he  
thought of Eowyn and wondered how she fared. A pang of longing surfaced inside  
of him for his golden haired shield maiden and hoped there would be opportunity  
to return to Ithilien to see her. “Imrahil was terribly grateful that Lothiriel  
was unharmed.”  
  
“Shouldn’t they be married by now?” Gimli asked.  
  
“That is better answered by my wife than I,” Aragorn replied with a little  
smile. “I confess when the conversation falls to gossip about who is to wed who,  
I think it is time to retire for the evening.”  
  
“Their strategy is clear however,” Faramir said making a move to a more serious  
subject. “They are attempting to scatter the council.”  
  
“Agreed,” Legolas stated firmly. “Your nemesis in this is a crafty one Aragorn.  
He seeks to divide us by attacking each of our realms. In my case, it was a  
warning but there can be no doubt as to his intentions.”  
  
“I wish we knew more about him,” Aragorn frowned easing further into his chair  
as he thought about his encounter with Haradrim leader. “He appears to be a man  
of the Sunlands but he was a Haradrim. It takes a formidable man to unite all  
those disaffected voices. We must be doubly on our guard after this.”  
  
“He was certainly formidable when we fought,” Gimli replied, stroking his beard  
as he recalled their battle and how close he had come to losing his life at the  
man’s hands. “His people are willing to die for him Aragorn and that is  
something I have never seen before. The Haradrim underling took his place  
beneath my axe without question. I do not think even Sauron commanded that much  
loyalty.”  
  
“Perhaps he does not command them with the fear of the sword but rather with  
respect,” Legolas pointed out. “You of all people know how fiercely soldiers  
will fight for a king that they love greatly. If this king has engendered this  
kind of affection then we are looking at entirely different war. Aragorn,”  
Legolas met the king of Gondor’s eyes, “this may take years and it will never  
stop until one side wins.”  
  
“I know,” Aragorn nodded sadly. “I wished with all my heart that it had not come  
to this but it has and you are right old friend. There will be no peace unless  
it is enforced by a final and complete defeat of the Easterling Confederacy.”  
  
The mood became as sombre as the dead and for a few minutes no one spoke until  
Gimli reached across the table and poured himself more wine from the flagon  
before them.  
  
“Let’s us not discuss this any further tonight,” the dwarf said with all the  
cheer he could muster, which was quite considerable when he put his mind to it.  
It was almost impossible to keep from being affected. “We cannot do anything  
about it and it will do us no good dashing our heads against the wall over  
troubles we cannot repair until the morrow.”  
  
“For a dwarf, you make an uncommonly good deal of sense,” Legolas teased.  
  
“Well more than a damn elf can that’s for certain,” the dwarf retorted.  
  
Aragorn and Faramir rolled their eyes in resignation, more than accustomed to  
the bantering by the members of two supposedly ‘older’ races.  
  
“And they say men lack maturity,” Aragorn snorted in Faramir’s direction.  
  
Faramir was about to respond when suddenly, bursting through the door was  
Nunaur. The march warden of Eden Ardhon appeared positively ashen as he entered  
the room and sought immediately to reach Legolas’ side. In his hand, he  
clutched a small scroll of paper. His grip around it was so tight that it was  
almost a fist and the parchment was crushed under the weight of his fingers.  
  
“What is it?” Legolas demanded, his heart starting to pound at the foreboding he  
could see in Nunaur’s face.  
  
“We intercepted a rider while scouting for the Haradrim,” Nunaur spoke, quite  
out of breath. It was quite obvious that he had rode hard from where he had been  
to reach them and had barely paused for rest. “The rider was heading southwards,  
carrying this. I managed to pry the truth from him and learnt that he was but  
one of three carrying the same message.”  
  
“What message?” Aragorn spoke, becoming just as anxious as Legolas.  
  
The lord of Eden Ardhon took the crushed parchment in his hand and read the  
contents. His eyes widened slightly and the aloof mask that they were so  
accustomed to seeing upon his features dropped completely and in its place was  
nothing less than blind panic.  
  
“GET MY HORSE SADDLED!” Legolas shouted as he tossed it away and started towards  
the door.  
  
“I ordered it as soon as I arrived,” Nunaur answered, following his lord with  
complete ignorance of the fact that they were not alone.  
  
“Legolas!” Aragorn cried out but neither elf was listening as Legolas strode out  
of the room with Nunaur following close behind. Their footsteps could be heard  
breaking into run as they drew further and further away. Aragorn reached the  
scroll of paper first when it appeared that no answer was forthcoming. He picked  
it up and registered the same horror as Legolas.  
  
“Faramir,” Aragorn said softly, but his voice was cold as ice. “Get the men  
ready, we ride within the hour.”  
  
Faramir knew the look in his king’s eyes well enough to make no effort at  
questioning the request. “As you will.”  
  
“What does it say?” Gimli demanded, his patience able to bear it no further.  
  
“It says,” Aragorn managed to speak through gritted teeth. “Show no mercy to  
Eden Ardhon.”  
  
************  
  
Life in Eden Ardhon continued in much the way it had since the colony was  
established, despite the conflict beyond its borders. The business of  
establishing a new elven kingdom in the woods of South Ithilien continued and  
though it had been many months since they settled here, there was still so much  
work to be done. For many of the elves led here by Legolas from the kingdoms of  
Lothlorien and Mirkwood, Eden Ardhon was a chance to accomplish something that  
elves rarely had opportunity to do, something completely new from start to  
finish. Most of the elves that had journeyed with Legolas to this distant realm  
had been born after the establishment of elven kind in Middle earth. They  
existed in cities already built and there was little that could be contributed  
that would echo with their distinct voice.  
  
Here in Eden Ardhon was a chance to create some unique in the face of their  
diminishing presence in Middle earth. It was no surprise that many of the elves  
that had chosen to remain instead of sailing into the Undying Lands were  
relatively young, being no more than three millennia old. While to men and  
dwarves, this may seen like an age, for the elves this was still a time of youth  
and the ability to express it without the eye of their elders reminding them of  
how it was all done before was a wonderful opportunity indeed. Of course, this  
did not mean that they were immature in any way or lacking good sense. Three  
thousand years had given them a good deal of experience in all things and there  
was just enough jaded essence in them to walk on the side of caution.  
  
It was the scouts who first caught sight of the Easterling army in all its  
terrible strength. The elves had suspected that there might be enemies in their  
midst but not even they had anticipated the true volume of their enemy’s number.  
Only a small force had attacked the village of Lebethron because a small force  
was all that was needed for such an insignificant target. Unfortunately, the  
same could not be said of the invaders who quickly surrounded the wood of Eden  
Ardhon and began a process of burning that enclosed the community in a wall of  
flame.  
  
The gift of foresight had allowed the elves to sense that some peril was drawing  
close. In these troubled times, they were quick to dispatch scouts beyond the  
boundaries of their territory to determine the exact nature of this so far  
unseen threat. As they drew closer to the edge of the great wood in which Eden  
Ardhon had made its home, the greater the sense of urgency became until it was  
so palpable that they could choke upon its fumes. Its potency was thick as it  
was completely encompassing. It surrounded them on all fronts, like a ring of  
fire contracting around them with each passing second.  
  
Upon the scouts’ return to Eden Ardhon, the order for evacuation was given  
though all were still somewhat astonished that it had come to this. Not for  
three millennia had the race of men attempted to war against the elves so openly  
and the time had lulled the Eldar into complacency. Lothlorien, Mirkwood and  
Imlardis had protection of its own, ensuring that an enemy could never breach  
its borders to cause its people harm. Eden Ardhon was too new for such  
enchantments and the prospect of invasion was so new to many of them, that  
coping with it was not easy. Nevertheless, there was presence of mind to make  
an effort at evacuation though the enemy quite effectively severed their routes  
of escape. The only way left to them was by river and there were not nearly  
enough boats to facilitate the evacuation of everyone from the colony.  
  
By the time it became clear to the elves they would have to fight, half of their  
number were sailing down the River Poros, away from the danger. What remained  
was the entire arsenal of warriors in Eden Ardhon who had elected to positioned  
themselves around their home in a defensive perimeter and hold the line against  
the army that hopelessly outnumbered. The rest hid where they could, using  
their skill as elves to mask themselves in the trees, hoping that would be  
enough to save them from the onslaught of what was becoming inevitable.  
  
**************  
  
Melia could not find Anna.  
  
The child had fled when news had returned from the scouts of the eminent  
Easterling invasion. As evacuation became necessary, Melia had desperately  
searched the community for the child, enlisting a number of elves to her cause.  
The little girl had an almost elvish ability to remain hidden and it was more  
than frustrating to a Ranger of her skill to be unable to discern where the  
child had taken refuge. Melia was under no illusions as to why Anna would behave  
in such a fashion, not when the same enemies who had ruthlessly murdered her  
family and her entire village were close to wreaking the same destruction upon  
the Eden Ardhon. The little girl probably thought that she was safer finding  
her own hiding place then any that could be found by an adult.  
  
After all, it had served her well enough before.  
  
“I cannot find her!” Melia told Miriel and Vienne who had been helping her with  
the search. Time was running out. They could hear the rumbling approach of the  
mumakils all around them. Melia, who had been raised since childhood to know how  
formidable these beasts were in battle, was painfully aware of how little time  
they had to find Anna and hide, if hiding was at all possible.  
  
“She must have hidden in the woods,” Miriel declared, sweeping her gaze across  
the length and breadth of Eden Ardhon, as if this effort would be more  
successful than the last dozen attempts. “We may have to widen our search to the  
forests.”  
  
“I do not know that is wise,” Vienne returned with overt fear in her eyes. The  
approach of the enemy was growing louder in their ears, more so to an elf with  
far better hearing that a human. “The enemy appears to be close. We may not be  
able to reach her in time if she is wandering in the wood.”  
  
Melia took a deep breath, debating what to do. Part of her was torn by her  
responsibility to Miriel, Vienne and the other women who were still in Eden  
Ardhon who had not managed to escape because they had run out of boats. While  
most were now sailing down the Poros to safety, there was still enough remaining  
in Eden Ardhon to give the enemy their brutal sport. Melia herself was carrying  
her crossbow, prepared to join the elven warriors presently doing battle beyond  
the perimeter of the city. They were conducting their battle from the trees but  
with the advent of the mumakils, it was not going to be easy to defend Eden  
Ardhon. The other part of her however, wanted to find Anna before the tragedy  
that had encompassed the little girl’s family claimed her as well.  
  
However, she was also wife to Legolas Greenleaf, Lord of Eden Ardhon and in his  
stead, she would have to do what was best for the all despite her need to save  
the one.  
  
“We have to find shelter. The trees are our best recourse at the moment,” Melia  
swallowed thickly, making the anguished decision she prayed she would not face.  
“We must ensure that we are hidden before the enemy arrives.”

”Do you think they will breach out defences?” Vienne asked anxiously, her fear  
beginning to override her experience.  
  
“Almost certainly,” Melia nodded grimly, reaching for a bolt from her crossbow  
and promptly arming the weapon. “Our warriors may be able to slow down the  
Easterlings but they will not stop them. Their numbers are to great in warriors  
and in mumakils.”  
  
“What about Anna?” Miriel asked, staring at her.  
  
“I will find her after you are all safe,” Melia answered while trying to hide  
just how much she loathed making the choice to abandon her search for the child  
for now.

Miriel’s expressions softened, showing Melia sympathy but the Ranger would have  
none of it. Instead, Melia directed her attention to gathering the remaining  
populace of Eden Ardhon in order to find safe hiding places for them. The enemy  
was closing in from all directions and while the elves knew the woods well, they  
could not hide indefinitely from the warriors and beasts flooding the forests.  
  
“We go to the river,” Melia suggested as she led a large group of women towards  
the River Poros. “I know we cannot sail away but those who can, should try and  
swim across. The waters of Poros may be deep enough for the mumakils to avoid.  
These beasts can swim but it will make ferrying warriors across difficult and  
that is a disadvantage we dare not ignore.”  
  
The Poros was a deep river with strong currents. Part of the reason Legolas  
established his colony here was due to the proximity of the River Poros. The  
Poros was deep enough for ships to sail its waters and its path took it to the  
Anduin and to the sea. To the elves for whom the call of the sea was strong;  
access to it was an absolute necessity. When it came time for Eden Ardhon to  
see the departure of the elves, it would be from here that they would sail to  
the Undying Lands in their grey ships.  
  
Melia did not like the idea of anyone trying to swim across but it was risk some  
of them had to take. She knew her people better than anyone present despite  
their long spanning existence. She knew that Easterlings could be brutal and if  
she did not succeed in sending away as many as possible to safety, then  
Lebethron’s fate would truly be their own. Reaching the waters of the Poros,  
the river was surging ahead with its usual vigour. The Poros saw its origins in  
the mountains of Ephel Duath and built the strength of its flow from those lofty  
heights.  
  
“It is to strong!” Vienne exclaimed. “Surely we cannot swim across it!”  
  
“Some of us have to try!” Melia returned, addressing all the women present.  
“Those of you who think you can make it across, do so. The current being what it  
is ensures that the mumakils will be reluctant to follow. However, their size  
may make up for that advantage.”  
  
“Look!” Miriel shouted, capturing their attention immediately.

Melia turned around and saw what Miriel was pointing at with such fear. Columns  
of smoke were rising into the afternoon sky. Thick, black columns were maligning  
the blue sky and tainting the air with the stench of cinders. The elven ladies  
watched this destruction with horror as did the wife of their lord, who knew at  
that moment how determined the enemy was to ensure that none of them escaped.  
  
“They’re burning the forests!” Someone shouted. “They’re going to raze it about  
our ears!”  
  
Unfortunately, there was little Melia could say to refute this statement because  
it appeared that was the truth. The Easterlings had considered their prey well  
and knew that the trees would offer the elves protection if they were forced to  
fight. With a ring of flame surrounding them on all directions, they would be  
herded against the river, penned with a wall of water behind them.  
  
“Swim!” Melia turned around and barked furiously. “Those who can make it, go  
now!”  
  
Her sharp demand sent a few women, including Vienne, hurrying to the water’s  
edge, divesting themselves of their shifts until only their underthings kept  
them from being completely immodest. Unfortunately, there was no other  
alternative for their weight had to be light in order to make the crossing. It  
would be difficult enough without the added burden of too many clothes,  
diminishing their efforts. Melia watched a good number of them cross with a sigh  
of relief.  
  
“You should go,” Miriel remarked as Melia turned on her heels and started down  
the path towards the woods once again.  
  
“I cannot,” Melia frowned and noted that the others were following her. Her  
thoughts were racing because she did not know what else to do. No doubt the  
elven warriors had difficulties enough battling the rampaging forces closing in  
Eden Ardhon without the added worry that a gaggle of women were still trapped  
with no means of escape.  
  
“You are Lord Legolas’ wife,” Miriel said firmly, “you should think to your own  
safety!”  
  
“I cannot!” Melia returned sharply. “I cannot swim!”  
  
“What?” Miriel stared at her in disbelief. For a human, Melia was one of the  
most capable people that Miriel had ever met. Despite her short life, the Ranger  
who had captured the heart of Legolas Greenleaf was one of the most experienced  
people she knew and commanded respect from those who knew her, even if they had  
first deemed her unworthy of their prince. “How is it you cannot swim?”  
  
“I come from the Sunlands where water is not entirely available in large enough  
quantities. What there is, we use to bathe and drink. To use water as a form of  
recreation is wasteful. So I never learnt,” Melia frowned, remembering how she  
had been forced to break that bit of news to Legolas the first time.  
  
“That is unfortunate,” Miriel frowned, still rather surprised that Melia was  
incapable such a simple thing. “It appears we are going to have to fight if we  
cannot leave here.”  
  
“I refuse to believe that,” Melia declared and thought quickly. There had to be  
a way to remain safe. Eden Ardhon was not forests and trees. She thought quickly  
of all the maps that had been charted, the paths that she had committed to  
memory out of sheer habit when the forests was being surveyed. She remembered  
the winding paths, the glen of great oaks, and the meandering streams that saw  
its life from the Poros. There had to be something in the wilderness that could  
offer her a refuge!  
  
“Wait,” Melia de when it suddenly came upon her, a slim hope at best but it was  
better than nothing. “Did not Gimli say that there was a quarry of rocks nearby  
when we were building the gathering hall?”  
  
“Yes,” Miriel nodded remembering the fanfare it had required to move the stone  
slabs to Eden Ardhon. “But it is hardly a quarry, more a collection of large  
rocks. I do not even think that there are caves there.”  
  
“It is better than nothing!” Melia declared seeing some light at the end of  
their dark tunnel of circumstance. “Come everyone! Follow me, we go westward!”  
  
There was little choice but to latch upon this slim hope and Melia hoped that it  
would provide enough them with enough shelter for her to decide what they had to  
do next. The path back to the quarry required their journey through Eden Ardhon  
and Melia hoped the enemy was still being kept at bay. Smoke was so thick in  
the air that it was difficult to see anything with clarity as clouds of grey  
drifted past them with its noxious fumes. A poisonous fog of ash had settled  
over the colony and though the forests were far from being completely engulfed  
in flame, the damage was starting to become noticeable.  
  
They were moving through the buildings when Melia noticed the elves stiffening  
in fear. Most of the womenfolk were armed although not many could wield a weapon  
with great skill. Elven women rarely found themselves in a position of  
vulnerability and only a handful ever learnt how to further their ability to  
fight. Arwen had been one of these exceptions because she had grown up with the  
spectre of Celebrian’s abduction by orcs. The queen of Gondor had sworn that she  
would never be so vulnerable and had with Legolas’ aid taught herself to fight  
though initially it was a matter of great consternation to her father. More than  
anything, Melia wished Arwen were here. The Evenstar had more than skill at her  
disposal, she had a sharpness of mind that Melia felt was sorely needed at this  
moment.  
  
Melia knew how to fend for herself, not for a whole.  
  
“What is it?” Melia asked, though she had an idea what it was that had captured  
the elven women’s attentions so completely.  
  
“We are not alone,” Miriel whispered, drawing a dagger from the belted sheath  
around her waist.  
  
“Everyone stay close!” Melia ordered.  
  
A blanket of silence fell over them that seemed to drown the cackling of the  
fires in the distance, the thunderous approach of the mumakils and the voices of  
men and elves battling fiercely for this smoke filled domain. The elven women  
were deathly afraid, she could see it in their eyes and while she possessed none  
of their senses, she could feel the reason for this anxiety. It was pressing up  
against them like the walls of a cage, trapping them.

The Easterlings were in Eden Ardhon.  
  
When they came out of the smoke, there were so many that Melia could not keep  
track of them. She reacted immediately, amidst the screams of fear as the  
Easterling warriors closed in on the women of Eden Ardhon. Melia aimed her  
crossbow at the enemy and began releasing steel bolts through the air with more  
speed than she thought herself capable. She saw one elven woman being attacked,  
Nóriëinya, Melia recalled briefly before she sent a bolt from her crossbow  
straight into the skull of Nóriëinya’s attacker. The maid squealed in fright as  
blood splattered over her but her cries were cut short when one of her more  
sensible sisters grabbed her hand and dragged her away from danger. Melia loss  
sight of them when she saw something approach from the corner of her eye and  
dealt with it.  
  
However as she staved off one attacker, she could hear the screams of her  
companions who were not so successful. Miriel was slashing wildly with her  
dagger at an Easterling warrior and Melia was almost ready to believe that she  
was safe when another reached out of the fog behind the elven women and grabbed  
the arm holding the offensive weapon. Once trapped, Melia could only watch  
helplessly as the other Easterling struck the elven maid hard, knocking her  
almost unconscious.  
  
“Miriel!” Melia shouted and prepared to shoot when she felt something slam into  
her shoulder. The pain was beyond belief as the arrow speared the space where  
her arm met her body. Melia staggered, unable to hold her crossbow with the  
strength she needed. The archer of this attack soon made his appearance and  
though she appeared weakened, Melia was far from helpless. Kicking her foot out,  
she connected with his knee and brought him to the ground. Gritting her teeth  
against the pain, she swung the crossbow against his face, ensuring there was  
enough force behind the weapon to shatter bone. He felt backwards bleeding and  
Melia finished him off swiftly by impaling him through the chest with a bolt  
still waiting to be ejected.  
  
When she looked up, she could no longer see Miriel but she could hear the  
screaming. The terrible screams, full of pain, despair and anguish as the women  
who had been subdued were forced to endure a torture far worse than any death.  
  
“Miriel!” Melia screamed again, tears running down her face because the smoke  
was so thick, she could see little ahead of her and losing sight of her  
companions now held the worse possibilities. Miriel did not answer her but  
Melia could hear her cries.  
  
Suddenly, something else caught Melia’s attention far more acutely than the  
horrific screams of her violated companions. A sharp, shrill cry that could only  
come from one person in all of Eden Ardhon. Bleeding and in pain, Melia forced  
herself to pick up her crossbow as she ran towards the direction of the helpless  
screams. It was easy to distinguish the terrified cried amidst of so many  
others because Melia knew the difference between them. She ran forward, blood  
still frothing from her wounded shoulder, the arrow cutting deeper into her  
flesh with every step she took. Its intensity forced her to grit her teeth and  
ignore the agony of it because the screaming did not abate but grew more frantic  
and desperate.  
  
“Anna!” Melia cried out when she saw the young girl being dragged out of her  
secret hiding place by an Easterling warrior. She had crawled into the hollow of  
one of the large trees and had remained there as she had done so when Lebethron  
had been attacked and destroyed. Anna had probably thought that the same hiding  
place would suffice this instance. Perhaps it was the smoke that had forced her  
to give herself away, Melia could not be certain but it was enough for the  
Easterling warrior to notice the child and take to pulling her out of her hiding  
place by the legs.  
  
“LET HER GO!” Melia ran straight into him and send him sprawling. He tumbled  
away like a loose rock tumbling down the side of a hill. Briefly, Melia turned  
to Anna who was still trembling in fright from her ordeal and hissed sharply,  
“Anna! Run!”  
  
Anna nodded wildly and bolted from the tree, determined to do as she asked. The  
little girl cast a glimpse over her shoulder to catch sigh of the woman who had  
saved her life when suddenly, she ran straight into someone else. Anna froze and  
looked up, seeing the Easterling warrior, his body covered in armour staring  
down at her through the eye slit in his faceplate. She recoiled almost  
instantly butt thick, gloved hands clamped around her arms.  
  
“Melia!” Anna squealed in terror when she realised that the Easterling grip  
around her was firm and that she would not be able to escape him.  
  
Everything seemed to slow for Melia at that instant. The rising smoke, the  
clouds of grey rolling around her and above them. Only some things were clear in  
the vagueness of grey, the stinging smoke was not. The screams of everyone else  
faded away, the pain in her arm was forgotten and the weapon in her hand,  
useless when the last of her bolts had been exhausted.  
  
What was clear was Anna in the hands of the Easterling. Anna whose eyes were  
wide with terror, pleading at her to help. The Easterling’s gloved hands shifted  
position with an intent Melia knew all too well. A hand travelled across the  
little girl’s chest, holding her to him across the breastbone and the other hand  
that dug its fingers into her skull, past the hair until the grip was firm and  
final.  
  
“Don’t!” Melia pleaded meeting his eyes and pleading with that one word.  
  
Melia saw his eyes narrow and knew that he had not heard. The child’s neck  
snapped cleanly in his grip, bone breaking so hard and fast that Anna probably  
never knew what had happened and she went slack where she stood. The Easterling  
released her then, allowing her small body to fall upon the ground, proving once  
and for all that no one survived the massacre of Lebethron, even days after the  
fact.  
  
Melia may have screamed. She did not know, nor would she have had chance to  
remember because she was tackled to the ground almost immediately after her soul  
had died a little watching Anna’s life squandered away so brutally. The  
Easterling murderer, Melia could not call him a warrior after what she had  
witnessed, the one who had found Anna in her hiding place had barrelled into her  
and knocked the Ranger off her feet. Melia rolled across the ground, snapping  
the arrow embedded in her shoulder and driving the point deeper into her flesh  
with such excruciating agony, she could do little but scream.

When he raised himself to throw a punch in her face, Melia kicked out her foot  
and connected with the side of his body, causing him to stagger slightly on his  
knees and give her time to straighten up herself. She struggled to an upright  
position and threw a fist in his face as her crossbow was no longer in her grip.  
He reeled but slightly and threw his out his own fist but did not strike her.  
Instead, he grabbed a hold of the jagged shaft of the arrow and twisted hard.  
Melia screamed involuntarily but earned another blow across the cheek for her  
trouble. This one, which she was completely unprepared for, dropped her back on  
the ground.  
  
She recovered just enough to see another shadow towering over her and realised  
that Anna’s murderer stood over her. She tried to move but she was not quick  
enough and his boot met her side, breaking ribs in the process. Melia cried out  
again, hating her weakness, hating the outcome she could see in his eyes. The  
screams of the others were surfacing in her consciousness again and as another  
boot landed in her stomach and the pummelling fists of both warriors reduced  
whatever resistance she had into a bloody mess of bruised flesh, Melia knew a  
worst indignity was yet to be visited upon her.  
  
She stopped looking at them when the pain became to great because her eyes were  
fixed upon Anna, who lay not far from where she was about to be defiled, the  
child’s sightless eyes staring at her. Melia wept and though her attackers may  
have been forgiven into thinking that her tears were born out of their violation  
of her body, in truth she was weeping for the child she could not save. A part  
of Melia’s mind closed itself to the physical horror her body was enduring and  
wrapped itself around the guilt of failing Lebethron’s last survivor.  
  
It was difficult to say which was worse.  
  
**************  
  
Preoccupied by the battle with the Easterlings, the elves of Eden Ardhon  
remained unaware of what was taking place within the colony itself. Fire was  
raging through the forests with unabated ferocity and there came a time when the  
defenders considered that it may become necessary to abandon the wood altogether  
and do the unthinkable, flee. However, elves were a hardly lot and they managed  
to throw a formidable defence despite their numbers. They were aided by skill  
and artful cunning that cost their enemies a sizeable portion of their number..  
They used what natural advantage they had to kill as many of the mumakils as  
possible and force their enemies to the ground.  
  
At least five of the great beasts were felled, killed by arrows piercing their  
most vulnerable places, the mouth, the eyes and the ears. A phalanx of arrows  
had to be deployed to bring down one of these formidable war oliphants but the  
elves were determined and a race who had been alive when Balrogs terrified the  
earth would not shirk facing the less fearsome beasts. The fires disadvantaged  
them of course, forcing the elves to fight in a confined area but after awhile,  
the Eldar learnt how to use the flames to their advantage for they had better  
endurance to smoke and fire then a human. In the end, their stamina was as much  
a deciding factor in the Easterling retreat as their well-aimed arrows.  
  
However, it appeared fortune was with them in some small fashion because grey  
clouds of rain soon joined the clouds of grey smoke. Although the preceding wind  
whipped the fires into a frenzy for a brief time, the rain that came down soon  
after quashed it completely. A storm that could have been sent by Manwe  
himself, quickly stamped out the fires surrounding Eden Ardhon and spared its  
forest from any greater destruction. With the cleansing rain, the elves spirits  
were somewhat raised though they sensed some deep dread they could not yet  
address because of their present peril.  
  
The Easterlings too, realised that they could not afford to linger and in truth,  
they need not do so. Their intention was to show the elves how vulnerable they  
were and in the ravaging of South Ithilien’s wood, the partial destruction of  
Eden Ardhon and the crimes against its women, the Easterlings believed they had  
accomplished much. With the dawning of a new day and their intention to save  
their resources for more strategic targets, the Easterlings withdrew, satisfied  
that they had made their point to the Lord of Eden Ardhon.  
  
***************  
  
It was a drop of water on her cheek that reminded Melia that she was alive.  
  
Until then, she had been lying where they left her, the pain from a dozen wounds  
suffusing into one black pit of despair. Her skin was bare in places, she could  
feel the cool air against her shoulders, around her thighs but she did not wish  
to open her eyes. Not that she wanted to. Her eyelids were difficult to open. If  
anyone had been there to describe her appearance to her, Melia might have  
understood why. She could feel the swell of blood in at least one of them but  
the dull throbbing of her jaw and her head made it very difficult to care.  
  
By the time the water had evolved from droplets to a teeming shower and finally  
to a fully fledged downpour of rain, Melia could no longer take refuge in the  
blackness of her unconscious state. The water’s insidious invasion brought  
coherence to her mind and the fluid stung painfully the wounds across her body.  
The most brutal pain was the one she did not wish to think about, even though it  
made itself felt most acutely each time she moved. It felt as if she were torn  
apart inside and while she knew that her injury was nowhere as grievous as it  
could be, the world still felt as if it had ended for her.

When she opened her eyes as best she could, Melia saw nothing but pouring rain  
descending from a grey sky. She felt the water penetrate her clothes and knew  
that it would not be enough to wash away the stench she could still feel against  
her skin. She could still smell them. Through the rain and blood, she could  
still smell their stink upon her. The memory of them surfaced so quickly and  
savagely for an instant that Melia felt her stomach clench into a fist. It was  
the pain that kept her from doubling over and retching. She looked at her  
shoulder and saw the arrow still embedded in her flesh but the pain of it had  
dulled. It was her broken arm and ribs that took most of her attention. Melia  
could taste blood in her mouth but she did not know if that was from her split  
lips or the gash bleeding down her cheek.  
  
She rolled over onto her stomach and immediately groaned at the pain that arose  
from that action. Closing her eyes, she forced it away though not very well  
because she was still gasping with every movement. The lower half of her body  
ached whether or not she moved and once again, Melia was compelled to force away  
the memory of what caused it. Somehow, she managed to pull herself to her knees  
and with one hand covered the parts of her that had been exposed by the  
Easterlings during the ordeal at their hands. Breathing was hard. Her chest  
felt heavy and when she remembered that it had to do with being held down by the  
neck during the point of penetration, the memory forced another surge of bile to  
rise up in her throat.  
  
When she saw Anna, all that was forgotten.  
  
Melia crawled forward, ignoring the pain that coursed through her body as she  
made her way to the child’s side. In death, Anna appeared peaceful, the only  
sign of violence being the terrible ring of purple flesh around her throat. Her  
eyes still stared into nothingness and Melia wondered if the last thing she had  
seen was Melia’s inability to help her. What had she felt at that moment knowing  
that she was going to die? Did she know that it would end that way or was fear  
all she felt? Melia supposed she would never know and brushed her palm across  
the girl’s eyes, closing them at last.  
  
For a moment, the lady of Eden Ardhon did nothing but kneel before the dead  
child. Staring at this poor life that fate had decreed would never see past this  
day. Melia had felt a little part of her die when Anna’s life was taken from her  
and knew that every day from this one forward, she would never be truly free of  
that image. Her shoulders shook when the first sobs escaped her and it was not  
long before she was crying so hard that it felt as if she might break into a  
thousand pieces. She had not wept in this way since she was forced to tell  
Legolas to kill her mother after the insidious spell by the Istar Alatar had  
turned Ninuie into a monster. Yet this felt worse, a thousand times worse.  
  
“I am sorry,” Melia whispered through her tears. “I failed you little one. I  
failed you.”  
  
Anna was in no position to refute the statement and Melia had little strength to  
do nothing but kneel there in the rain, wondering why she should have survived  
when she had failed to protect this child. Why did she deserve life? It was a  
question Melia did not have long to ponder because she saw Miriel walking past  
her in the distance. Until now, Melia had not taken too much stock of her  
surroundings. Grief had shrunk her perception of things to the child that was  
lying on the ground before her. She had not noticed anything else.  
  
Some of Eden Ardhon was burned away but a good deal remained intact. It was the  
woods that had suffered the worst of the fire but rain had quenched this angry  
demon before too much was destroyed irrevocably. Trunks still stood tall and  
proud and the nurturing touch of elves would ensure the promise of life  
returning to their aged limbs and branches. It was fortunate that time was  
capable of healing some things with ease and others, not at all. As she swept  
her gaze over the ruined parts of Eden Ardhon, she supposed that in time the  
destruction of this dark day could be forgotten in time. However, the injury  
done to the people who dwelt within the colony was another thing entirely.  
  
Even though she would have been quite content to remain where she was, allowing  
her misery to soak her up whole, something compelled Melia to her feet. She  
wiped the blood from her mouth and tried to take a step forward, the pain  
spearing through her as she made the effort. Drawing a deep breath, Melia needed  
to steady herself and accustomed her body to the exertion of moving.

”Miriel!” She cried out but the elven maid showed no indication that she had  
heard Melia’s call. As Miriel moved out of sight, Melia saw the blood that  
stained the white of her dress and the torn sleeves. The lady’s remarkable  
golden hair was tangled and her fair flesh was smeared with dirt. She walked not  
with her head held high but like a wraith compelled to walk in a place it had  
once done in life.  
  
“Miriel! Stop!” Melia tried again to no avail.  
  
Concern compelled her forward and Melia fought against the pain as she followed  
Miriel through Eden Ardhon. Through the rain she could hear the weeping of  
others and knew that she was not alone in her ordeal. They too wore expression  
of desolation and while Melia wanted to comfort them, something compelled her to  
keep after Miriel. None however, struck Melia’s heart with as much anxiety as  
seeing Miriel drift past everything as if it were not there. Melia soon  
realised that calling to Miriel would not halt the lady’s progress and the only  
thing to do was to follow her to her destination.  
  
It was difficult to keep walking for Melia knew she was losing blood from her  
injured shoulder. She was light headed and becoming shorter of breath but she  
had to continue moving. Anna’s death was a crushing weight upon her soul and she  
knew that if she allowed Miriel to get past her, she would regret it as much.  
After some time, it was not difficult to discern where Miriel was headed and the  
realisation made her hastened her pace even more.  
  
The Poros’ rushing waters could be heard as Melia lost sight of Miriel when she  
cleared the trees before the shore of the embankment. Melia quickened her step,  
uttering a soft wince of pain because the insides of her body felt as if it had  
been rubbed raw. Tears ran down her cheeks as she controlled the pain of not  
only her violation but also the broken arm she was clutching limply to her side  
and the jagged bones of ribs protruding deeper into her organs. Brushing past  
the branches that shook as she emerged, Melia’s breath caught when she saw  
Miriel wading towards the shore.  
  
“Miriel no!” Melia exclaimed and broke into a run, her whole body heaving in  
collective protest as the Ranger forced herself forward.  
  
The elven maid waded into the great river, her dress immediately rising up  
around her body, carried by the water swirling about her. Miriel seemed not to  
notice and continued this march, not even when Melia waded in after. Her hair  
began to splay out the farther out she went and Melia knew that if she did not  
reach her soon, the Ranger would not have the strength to drag her out of the  
river against the power of the current. It did not even occur to Melia that she  
could not swim and if they were swept too far out, she would drown far quicker  
than Miriel could manage.  
  
“Stop!” Melia finally grabbed her arm in water that was shoulder deep. “What  
are you doing?”  
  
“Leave me be!” Miriel cried out. “I cannot live with this shame!”  
  
“This shame is upon all of us!” Melia declared, refusing to let go and tried  
hard to pull Miriel back before both of them were imperilled. Unfortunately,  
this was not easy to do when one was injured and the other was an elf determined  
to die. “You are not the only one who suffered this disgrace but to end your  
life is to give them even more power over you! They will kill you without even  
needing to draw the sword!”  
  
“I cannot bear it!” Miriel wailed in anguish, her face streaked with tears. “I  
smell him on my flesh. His stench is branded into my soul! I cannot live with  
this stain upon my honour!”  
  
“I will not let you kill yourself!” Melia shouted in fury. “Not you or anyone  
else! You think I cannot smell what was done to me? You think my senses are any  
less because I am human! I could retch thinking what has happened but I will not  
allow them to win this way! Why do you think they use us in this manner! Not for  
their pleasure but to break our men! This is not because of us! This is to  
break the spirit of the men who care for us, a testimony to how they will always  
be less because they failed to protect us!”  
  
“I do not care!” Miriel wept. “I want to die. I do not want to live with this  
shame! It will curse me for all time and I cannot bear it! He took so much  
pleasure in what he did! I heard his cruel words! I shall not forget it even if  
I go to the Undying Lands.”  
  
“At least he was one!” Melia retaliated, her own emotions unleashed. It was like  
a dam inside of her, even worse than when she had knelt at the child’s dead body  
and wept. Then it had been merely tears, this was guilt and black despair, far  
worse than any physical violation could ever be. “I have been used by both and  
if that were not enough, one of them killed Anna! Murdered her right in front of  
my eyes. This child that I was supposed to protect! She looked to me to keep  
her safe and I promised her I would! I did nothing of the kind! I failed her! I  
failed her so completely and they took her from me! A child!”  
  
Melia’s grip upon Miriel slackened and her whole being seemed to lose its  
strength for she shook where stood in the water, body wracked with large sobs  
that shuddered every fibre of her being. She looked away then, feeling her  
spirit bleed out of her like the blood oozing from her shoulder.  
  
“Anna is dead?” Miriel looked at her, eyes filled with sorrow for suddenly,  
something far worse than her own wretched state penetrated her heart.  
  
“Yes,” Melia nodded weeping, barely able to say more than that for her sobs. “I  
failed her, Miriel! I swore I would guard her, I promised to keep her safe and  
yet I failed her.” Melia’s voice broke completely with that tormented  
confession.  
  
Miriel saw Melia’s profound grief so much like her own and suddenly felt that  
despite her despair, she pitied this human who had become her friend since her  
arrival. The power to feel sympathy and empathy for Melia’s sorrow and her  
ordeal allowed Miriel to gain some strength of her own. If a human could prevail  
in light of such terrible guilt added to the burden of the horror they had both  
endured, then an elf should be able to endure as well. She did not know if this  
new found resolve would endure past the moment but Miriel supposed that it would  
be a coward’s way not to even try. Taking Melia’s uninjured arm, the elven maid  
led the broken Lady of Eden Ardhon back to shore with the hope that perhaps  
their solidarity in pain might be able to mend them both someday.  


  



	9. Chapter Eight: The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed a bold plan, an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war.Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose.

  
  
It was no easy feat to reach Legolas after he set out from Lossarnach, in  
distance or in thought.  
  
Aragorn and Gimli left Lossarnach shortly after the former prince of Mirkwood  
had read the contents of that ominous message, determined to be at his side no  
matter how terrible the outcome he faced when he arrived home. The king had  
paused long enough to tell Faramir to follow and it was almost a day later when  
the contingent of Rohirrim cavalry finally ended their pursuit to join them.  
Upon departing from Lossarnach, Legolas and his elves kept up a relentless pace  
to reach Eden Ardhon. Despite Aragorn and Gimli leaving only a short time after  
the elves had set out, it took man and dwarf, the better part of the night to  
finally close the distance between them.  
  
Legolas spoke little during their journey to Eden Ardhon and Aragorn who had  
known the elf for the better part of his life, grew increasingly fearful at how  
Legolas would be if they arrived at the colony and found the worst had  
transpired. He knew what Legolas feared even more than the destruction of the  
colony and could not blame the elf for his selfishness because in his place,  
Aragorn would feel the same. Legolas feared for Melia and the possibility of her  
death. Aragorn knew no matter how much Legolas tried, the elf could not  
reconcile himself with the fact that in a shorter time than he could imagine, he  
would lose his wife. Despite the joy of their togetherness in the present,  
Aragorn could see the sliver of sadness in Legolas’ eyes that dreaded the day  
when he and Melia would be parted.  
  
Aragorn dared not imagine his wrath if they returned to Eden Ardhon and found  
Melia harmed in any way.  
  
They could see the storm gaining momentum behind his eyes. It grew with greater  
intensity each league closer they journeyed towards Eden Ardhon. All that held  
it in restraint was the desperate hope that they would not arrive there too  
late, that Eden Ardhon could be saved before the Easterlings fell upon it. The  
hope was in vain, they all knew it. In some capacity, Aragorn was certain that  
Legolas knew too but his heart and soul was too terrified to admit it. Aragorn  
prayed for his sake that they were all wrong, that they would arrive at Eden  
Ardhon and find it, as it always was, the growing elven heart of South Ithilien.  
  
Unfortunately, it was not meant to be.  
  
Even before they arrived at the community, the evidence of the calamity that had  
befallen it was evidenced in the charred remains of many great trees. The  
forest had survived the scourging by fire, thanks to the timely rainstorm that  
had occurred during the course of the battle. However, the damage was  
considerable and would take years to restore completely to its former glory,  
more rapidly still if the elves would lend their considerable skills to the  
task. The Rohirrim who have never travelled this far south but were familiar  
with the great wood of South Ithilien were similarly horrified by what they saw,  
while Faramir who considered Legolas a neighbour, grieved at the destruction.  
  
Legolas said nothing as they rode through the paths that led to Eden Ardhon  
although the effect of the destruction upon Nunaur and the others was evident by  
the grief in their expression. No one attempted to speak as they crossed the  
distance to Eden Ardhon. Their breaths had been stilled into abated silence,  
heavy with anticipation of what they would find when they reached their  
destination. Aragorn and Gimli flanked Legolas during the final leg of this  
journey, certain in their hearts that they would be needed to tame the storm  
that would erupt once they arrived at the colony.  
  
The colony still stood but its ordeal was visible in the charred remnants of  
some buildings and the others that had been despoiled by ash and smoke. There  
was a grey pall over everything that could have been the lingering mist of the  
rain but felt as if the starlight had been driven from the realm of the elves.  
The gloom that greeted the new arrivals was so thick that it could be sliced  
through with a knife. Even at the return of their lord, the elves did not appear  
very animated. Their shoulders still sagged with the burden of what transpired  
and their gaze bore the look of haunted sorrow.  
  
When the travellers finally dismounted their horses, it fell to Elendurfinë,  
another of Eden Ardhon march wardens to inform his lord of the tragedy that had  
befallen them. The tall, fair-haired elf was still covered in ash and dirt. If  
it was possible for an elf to lose his lustre, Elendurfinë certainly proved it  
for he looked exhausted and shaken. It was a fact that did not escape Legolas  
any more than it had the rest of the company who were hiding their shock by how  
worn this beautiful and ideal raced appeared to be. Many of them had been raised  
from childhood to look upon the elves as a magical race personifying the wonder  
of Middle earth. To see them in this manner was almost desecration.  
  
“What happened?” Legolas asked quietly as he strode towards his home, with  
Aragorn, Faramir, Gimli and Nunaur in tow, determined to see Melia first.  
  
“The Easterlings, my lord,” Elendurfinë replied softly. “They invaded the wood  
armed with mumakils and fire.”  
  
Elendurfinë then proceeded to explain the passage of the Easterling attack, the  
actions taken by Eden Ardhon’s warriors to defend their homes and the rain that  
had quelled the blistering fires that had almost consumed the entire forest. Yet  
it was plain that something remained hidden in the guarded manner of his words,  
something so terrible he could not bring himself to meet the eyes of his lord  
and speak its words to all hearing.  
  
“How many have died?” Legolas’ asked in the same, low voice.  
  
“We are uncertain yet,” Elendurfinë answered truthfully. “Some of the bodies  
have become lost in the wood where they had fallen. I have sent parties out to  
seek our missing warriors. We were able to evacuate a good number of women down  
the river before the Easterlings arrived. Áyatiruva has gone to retrieve them,  
I believe they will return before nightfall.”  
  
“And my wife?” Legolas forced himself to ask because Melia had not come out to  
meet him and that alone struck cold fear in his heart.  
  
Elendurfinë lowered his eyes; unable to meet Legolas gaze at the mention of  
Melia’s name.  
  
“Tell me,” Legolas demanded, his voice but a hoarse whisper. “Does she live?”  
  
“Yes,” Elendurfinë nodded grimly. “She lives, my lord.”  
  
Legolas let out a sigh of relief at this news but it was a short lived feeling  
for he sensed there was more to it than that and braced himself to hear it.  
  
“My lord,” Elendurfinë swallowed, preferring to battle Morgoth himself then have  
to reveal to Legolas what had happened to Melia and the other women of Eden  
Ardhon. “The Easterlings managed to breach Eden Ardhon itself. We were still  
battling them in the eastern quadrant of the forests and not all the women were  
able to get away to safety.”  
  
“What does that mean?” Nunaur demanded of his subordinate, his patience having  
reached its limits. “Explain yourself!”  
  
“How many?” Legolas asked through gritted teeth. His eyes were closed because he  
could no longer bear the strained expression of Elendurfinë was trying to hide  
from him. Even without hearing the words, he instinctively knew what  
Elendurfinë was trying with such great difficulty, to tell him. A feeling of  
numbness suffused his being; his emotions became trapped behind a wall of iron  
restraint because for the moment, he needed control. The damn would burst soon  
enough but for now, he needed composure to hear Elendurfinë’s answer.  
  
“Twenty,” the elven warrior revealed. “Including your wife.”  
  
“Oh Legolas, I am sorry,” Gimli managed to say but no other consolation would  
follow. There were simply no words to console a husband whose wife had been  
profaned in such a manner, no comfort that could ease his terrible outrage.  
Gimli himself considered Melia family and to know that this terrible thing had  
been done to her was enough to make his stoke his own anger into white-hot fury.  
  
“Was she hurt badly?” Legolas forced himself to ask, his voice starting to  
crack, his face a mask of sorrow.  
  
“She remains now in the house of healing. She was pierced with an arrow and her  
arm was broken. There are other injuries but any more than that I cannot say.”

”Thank you,” Legolas answered with surprisingly calm considering what he had  
just been told.  
  
“My lord,” Elendurfinë hated to add more to his lord’s burden but the entire  
colony knew how Melia had felt about the child and Legolas had a right to know  
what had happened in this respect as well. “The child Anna was killed. I am told  
the Lady Melia saw her die.”  
  
Legolas swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded slightly. “Nunaur, please  
see to the comfort of our guests and the Rohirrim. Elendurfinë, you will take me  
to the Lady Melia.”  
  
“Yes my lord,” Nunaur replied promptly but it was evident the leader of Legolas’  
warriors was terribly reluctant to leave his lord in such a precarious state of  
mind.  
  
“Legolas, I will come with you,” Aragorn brushed past Nunaur, determined to stay  
close to the elf. He knew Legolas well enough to know how close to the edge he  
was skirting at the moment. Legolas was a creature of high moral character for  
most part but even he had demonstrated savagery in battle that would make any  
enemy cringe. Still, that savagery was laced with elven control but Aragorn  
feared that this was one situation where Legolas might abandon his reason and  
embrace wholly the fury he so deserved to feel.  
  
“As you wish,” Legolas retorted, barely hearing his words.  
  
Gimli hurried forward, determined not to be left behind even though Legolas  
registered his presence as much as he noticed Aragorn’s, which was to say not at  
all. The dwarf could sense the approach of the storm almost as potently as  
Aragorn and like the king of Gondor, was uncertain what shape Legolas’  
undoubtedly formidable fury would take. In the years since the formation of  
the Fellowship and all the trials that had put them to the test after it,  
Legolas had always been the paragon of elvish serenity. No matter what, he had  
always managed to keep control. Even when he was angered; there was restraint  
and thoughtfulness. His expressions of anger were obligatory for the moment, not  
instinctive as most emotional outbursts tended to be. They had become  
accustomed to his composure and his aloof manner, knowing that it was the elven  
way to be perceived as enigmas. They had never seen him the way he was now.  
  
They had never seen him enraged.  
  
**************  
  
Legolas paused in the doorway when the sound of the door creaking open made  
Melia turn to him.  
  
She was cushioned against pillows in an upright position on her bed, her gaze  
formerly upon the window and the day outside. Upon seeing him, there was a  
sparkle of pleasure in her eyes but its light was difficult to see through the  
devastation. He froze a moment, feeling another lump in his throat at the sight  
of her. The swelling around her eyes had diminished a little but the ugly  
bruises were still there as well as upon her jaw, her cheek and her lips split  
cruelly in a gash that would tear open if she smiled. From her waist down, she  
was covered with a sheet but her broken arm, held in place with splints, rested  
to her side. He could see the swathing over the wound of her shoulder beneath  
her clothing.  
  
“I missed you,” she said softy, her end of lips curling but a little.  
  
“I should not have gone,” Legolas answered crossing the space between them and  
lowering himself next to her on the bed. “I should never have left you,” he  
whispered, his voice choking.  
  
“You did what had to be done,” Melia answered compassionately in this matter.  
She did not blame him as much as she blamed herself and it pained her to think  
that he would hold himself responsible for what happened. “You could not have  
foreseen any of this.”  
  
“I should have been here,” Legolas declared, his face contorting with a gamut of  
emotions he no longer bothered to hide. To see her beauty so marred, to know  
that the bruises and the broken bones were only the barest fraction of her true  
injuries was more than he could bear. Her face showed her despair, it radiated  
from every corner of her and yet diminish the light that she was to him.  
  
“I should have been here to protect you. I should have stopped them from hurting  
you…” he broke off almost unable to continue.  
  
“Please,” she turned away, tears running down her cheeks because the ordeal was  
making itself felt with fresh pain. “I do not wish to speak of it but I cannot  
hide that I am soiled and tainted. I have been defiled and I am no longer worthy  
of you.”  
  
“Don’t you say that!” Legolas cried out with such vehemence that it startled  
Melia as he took the hand of her uninjured arm. Tears had escaped his eyes as he  
looked at her with such pain that Melia could barely stand it. “It is I who is  
unworthy. You did nothing to deserve this and I did everything to cause it! You  
are my love! Nothing will ever change that, not even the foul act of Easterling  
animals! Do you think their cruelty could ever change the fact that my heart has  
been yours, will be yours even to the grave?” He was crying now, a thing he had  
not done in a long time but his guilt was almost complete and she was the one  
person to whom he could bare his soul without shame.  
  
“Oh Prince!” She burst into tears, unable to stand his grief any more than she  
was able to cope with hers. “I couldn’t save her! She needed me and I couldn’t  
save her! What they did to this body was nowhere as terrible as killing her  
because I could do nothing to stop it!”  
  
Legolas drew his wife into his arms as she sobbed pitifully in his embrace,  
purging herself of the terrible pain she felt at Anna’s death, stroking her  
hair, whispering in her ears that it was not her fault even though he knew that  
it was a futile effort. How could he exonerate her of her guilt when he could  
not convince himself that this was not his fault? Aragorn had warned him! He had  
thought the king had been too proud to accept his help but it had been Legolas  
who had been proud, too proud to acknowledge the fact that Aragorn could be  
right and he was.  
  
When she had stopped crying, unaware that every sob had broke his heart anew as  
if it were of a Promethean design, Legolas took her face in his hands and made  
her look at him. Forcing himself to remain strong because she needed his  
strength more than his sorrow at this moment, Legolas stared into her eyes and  
spoke with all the conviction he could muster.  
  
“I love you more than anything in this world but I will not allow you to believe  
that this was your fault! This was an act of barbarism, upon your flesh and upon  
that poor child who had suffered greatly already! You could never be anything  
but absolute in my eyes and there is not a fibre of my being that will believe  
for an instant that you did not do everything in your power to save her. The  
tragedy or the blame of this is not yours to bear. It belongs to the Easterlings  
murderers who took away her life before her time. I swear to you my love, on  
everything that I am that they will pay for this. Her life will be answered for,  
hers and that of everyone who was defiled in Eden Ardhon. I love you Mia, I will  
see them pay for they have done to you!”  
  
Melia saw the fury in his eyes and knew that he meant what he had spoken. The  
rage that burned behind his deep blue eyes struck cold fear in her life for it  
was like a dragon had been prodded into awakening. She had thought the fate of  
Lebethron had incited his rage, she had been wrong. That was pale in comparison  
to the fury blazing in his eyes at the crime upon her and his people. A part of  
her was gladdened by his desire to avenge the crime but another was afraid for  
his life. Vengeance tainted the soul far more profanely then even a violent  
rape, she would not see him blighted, not even for her.  
  
“Prince,” Melia said quickly. “I will survive this but I will do so with you at  
my side. I need you now to be with me, not to embark upon a course that will  
drive us apart.”  
  
“I am with you,” he declared pulling himself away, his hand still on her cheek.  
“Someday that will change but until that time I will always be yours but this  
cannot go unanswered, I could not live with myself if I were to look at you and  
know that those who forced themselves upon you still breathed the same air as I.  
In that respect, elves are no different than men. They will pay!”  
  
And with that, he swept out of the room before any of her protestations were  
capable of changing his mind.  
  
***************  
  
Aragorn saw Legolas storming out of the room and knew that there was murder in  
his eyes. The elf barely registered the presence of his close friends as he  
strode past them, with a fury so dark that it almost created shadows along the  
hallway as he moved. Aragorn and Gimli exchanged fearful looks, aware that the  
storm that they had feared had finally broken. Without needing to correspond in  
words what needed to be done, Aragorn immediately fell into pursuit certain that  
in his rage Legolas was about to embark upon some foolish act of vengeance.  
Gimli held back, thinking that it was best that Aragorn dealt with this alone  
for it needed subtlety and that was something the dwarf lacked.  
  
“Legolas!” Aragorn called out as he hurried out the house of healing into the  
outdoors of Eden Ardhon once more. “Stop!”  
  
Legolas did not answer and made his way to where the horses were stabled,  
confirming Aragorn’s worse fears that the elf did intend to do something  
foolish. Legolas was certainly justified in doing so despite how hazardous the  
action might be. If Aragorn were in his place, he doubted if anyone could deter  
him from his course any more than he was attempting to do to Legolas at this  
moment. However, he had to try. He had to try because Legolas was his friend and  
if their positions were indeed reversed, it would be Legolas who would be making  
this impassioned plea instead of him.  
  
“Leave me be Aragorn,” Legolas paused briefly when they reached the entrance to  
the stables. It was one of the few buildings that fortunately remained untouched  
by the fire.  
  
“I will know where you intend to go first,” Aragorn returned insistently.  
  
“It is none of your affair,” Legolas glared at him.  
  
“It is if you intend upon embarking on utter suicide,” the king declared,  
wrapping his fist around Legolas’ arm and preventing him from going any further  
into the stable.  
  
“Release me immediately,” Legolas ordered, his eyes meeting Aragorn’s in cold  
fury.  
  
“No,” Aragorn shook his head. “Not whilst you are in this state. I know what  
burns you and though I cannot fault you for it, I will not allow you to do what  
is in your mind. It is folly and it will cost you your life!”  
  
“I will not allow this violation go unpunished,” Legolas snapped, tearing his  
arm out of Aragorn’s grasp.  
  
“It will not,” Aragorn tried to reason with him but was beginning to see that  
reason may not be possible, not with the fury that was coursing through Legolas  
at this time. “However, you would best serve your people by being there for  
them.”  
  
“If I had the best consideration of my people in my head, I would not have  
interfered in this war of yours to begin with and my wife’s body and soul would  
not be ripped asunder!” The elf shouted before turning on his heels and resuming  
the journey into the stable.  
  
“Legolas, I will not allow you to leave here.” Aragorn said firmly with enough  
steel in his voice to halt the lord of Eden Ardhon in his steps.  
  
“Who do you think you are that you presume to tell me what I can and cannot do  
in my own realm, Aragorn?” Legolas demanded after he had turned around and faced  
Aragorn once again.  
  
“I am your friend,” the king of Gondor said sincerely, “and I will not let you  
do this thing.”  
  
“How do you propose to stop me?” Legolas glared at him, eyes filled with  
challenge and outrage at the man’s presumption.  
  
“By any means necessary,” Aragorn declared firmly, not about to stand aside.  
  
“I would like to see you try,” Legolas hissed under his breath and turned his  
back upon Aragorn. There was a rage burning inside of him that would know no  
rest until he had tasted vengeance. Never in his life had Legolas been provoked  
to such a state of burning fury and now that the flame had been stoked into such  
heat, it was difficult to think of anything else but satisfying the demand for  
justice. He did not care if others called it by a different name, that to them  
it was vengeance. He did not care for anything except righting the wrong that  
had been inflicted his wife and his people.  
  
Aragorn took a deep breath and decided that he would have no choice but to make  
good on his threat. He broke into a run in order to catch up with Legolas,  
determined that the elf would not leave Eden Ardhon in his present condition.  
Legolas was just angry enough to try to mount a lone assault upon the Easterling  
army and he had skill enough to track them to do so. Unfortunately, elven  
senses were more than prepared for him. Before Aragorn could reach for Legolas’  
shoulder, the elf spun around and grabbed his wrist.  
  
“Do not interfere with me, Aragorn,” Legolas warned, too swept away by anger to  
recognise that his friend was trying to help.  
  
“I will not let you go,” Aragorn repeated himself.  
  
Legolas shoved his hand away and started to turn but Aragorn was just as  
determined as Legolas in this matter. The former Ranger reached for him again  
and this time Legolas’ reaction was more violent. He grasped Aragorn’s tunic and  
slammed him hard against the wall, pinning him there with elven strength,  
heightened by guilt and anger.  
  
“Leave me be!” Legolas demanded.  
  
Aragorn broke free easily and pushed Legolas away from him. “I will not! I  
cannot! This is folly and you know it! Your people need you here at this moment  
and that is far more important thing than your need for vengeance!”  
  
Legolas lashed out so swiftly that Aragorn did not even see the fist that  
connected with his jaw and sent him sprawling against the wall. The strike was  
hard and sharp but not enough to harm his seriously. In his time Aragorn had  
weathered worse and if it required that he bore the brunt of his trusted  
companion’s rage to keep him from doing something foolish, then so be it.  
  
“You will not change what has happened,” Aragorn replied, rubbing his chin as he  
faced Legolas after a moment. “And your death will not comfort your wife who has  
suffered enough. Do not force her to endure your loss as well as her violation!”  
  
“How dare you?” Legolas demanded as he took a step closer towards Aragorn, until  
they were inches part from each other and Aragorn could see how enraged the  
prince truly was. “How dare you presume to tell me anything? If it were the  
Evenstar, not even Iluvutar could stop you from what I am intending to do now!  
Your hypocrisy sickens me!”  
  
“Legolas, I know how you feel…” Aragorn started to say.  
  
“NO YOU DO NOT!” Legolas shouted in turn, his voice starting to break. “How  
could you possibly know what I feel at this moment? It was not your wife that  
was brutalised! Not your people who have been subjected to this humiliation and  
degradation. It was not you who gambled their safety and lost! It was I Aragorn!  
I!”  
  
“It was not your fault,” Aragorn replied earnestly, feeling his heartache as he  
watched Legolas recoiled with that terrible outburst, losing all control of his  
emotions in a devastating admission of guilt. “You could not have prevented  
this.”  
  
“I did everything to provoke it!” Legolas cried with anguish. “You warned me and  
I did not listen. I did not believe that they would dare to do this! Not even  
after the destruction of Lebethron. I bore the conceit of all elves, that we are  
untouchable, that we are the blessed and the protected of the Valar that we  
cannot be harmed in such a fashion! You warned me that this would happen and I  
did not see it! I did not see it and now she lies there, like so many others,  
violated and shamed, because of me!”  
  
Legolas dropped to his knees, his strength giving out at last under the weight  
of the terrible burden in his heart, unable to maintain composure or control as  
he started to weep. “I failed her Aragorn, I failed her and now she is broken  
inside and seeing her in this manner, knowing I am the cause is a knife if my  
heart I cannot bear! I should have listened to you but I did not and she has  
paid for my arrogance! She and the rest of my people!”  
  
“You did not fail anyone,” Aragorn replied, feeling his own emotion well up  
inside of him seeing his friend so completely desolate. It was quite something  
to witness the deconstruction of one of the strongest people he would ever know  
and it was not a sight he wanted to see again. “You did what you thought was  
best. You wished only to help and there is no shame in that. Your people  
understand it as will your wife. She is a Ranger of the North with enough steel  
in her character to ensure that even this terrible deed will not break her. Do  
not let it break you.”  
  
Legolas fell back on his legs, continuing to weep in despair, releasing the  
torrent of emotion and grief that had been dammed up since their departure from  
Lossarnach. Aragorn made no effort to approach him and remained in silence,  
allowing the elf to purge himself of his grief. Legolas was one who kept his  
emotions to himself for most part and to release it in this manner was no easy  
thing, particularly in full view of someone else. There were moments when the  
best comfort one man could offer another was to simply remain silent.  
  
“You told me that this could happen and I refused to believe it, I refused to  
believe at the risk of everything I hold dear. I thought you were too proud to  
accept my help now that you were king of Gondor but it was I who was filled with  
pride Aragorn. I was too proud to believe that this outcome was possible, that  
the Easterlings would dare to attack an elven colony. I have made such grave  
mistakes because of that pride and now there is wound upon my Melia’s heart that  
no amount of time can erase and she has no Undying Lands to go to in order to be  
rid of it.”  
  
“She is not an elf,” Aragorn finally answered, “she is human and she will endure  
because you will be at her side.”  
  
“I cannot be for the moment,” Legolas looked up at Aragorn, his cheeks still wet  
from tears and his eyes glistening, but he was no longer weeping and the grief  
that Aragorn had been privy to a short time ago was finally diminishing,  
replaced by his regaining composure. “I need to go.”  
  
“Where?” Aragorn asked suspiciously, wondering if Legolas still had vengeance in  
his mind.  
  
“I have a journey to make and it is not to kill the Easterlings, though they  
will know my wrath. I will ask that in my absence you convey to Nunaur that all  
our women and our injured be sent to Minas Tirith until I give word that it is  
safe for our return. I trust that you will not mind housing my people for a  
time?”  
  
“You know better than to ask that but what do you intend to do?” Aragorn  
inquired again.  
  
Legolas ignored the question and continued speaking, “once that is done and my  
people are safely housed in the White City, you will tell him to proceed to Emyn  
Arnen with our warriors to join your armies. Leave no one behind in Eden Ardhon,  
until this war is done I cannot guarantee their safety. We will compensate  
Gondor for any resources that are expended during our stay.”  
  
“That is not necessary…” Aragorn started to stay, realising that the fury that  
had almost driven Legolas to folly was now abated, though the storm in his eyes  
was far from finished.  
  
“Do not be so quick to say that,” Legolas retorted. “You told us that you  
believe this conflict would last far longer than a matter of months. If that is  
so, you cannot afford to be magnanimous.”  
  
“And you?” Aragorn stared at him. “What do you intend to do?”  
  
Legolas rose to his feet and took a deep breath, wiping the tears from his eyes  
and slipping that aloof mask over his face once again. “I have a journey to make  
and it is one I must travel alone.”  
  
He saw Aragorn opening his mouth to protest the idea and quickly silenced him by  
adding a further explanation. “Do not concern yourself that I am riding to take  
on the Easterling army single-handedly. While I think that I would take many of  
them before my death, you are probably correct in believing that I would not  
survive the engagement but I mean to hurt them Aragorn, I mean to make them  
pay.”  
  
“How?” The king of Gondor asked, shuddering inwardly at the ice in Legolas’  
closing statement.  
  
“By going to see my father.”  
  
**************  
  
  
“Hello lass,” Gimli greeted Melia when he entered her room.  
  
“Gimli,” the Lady of Eden Ardhon said with a surge of warmth in her otherwise  
despairing eyes. “Where is Legolas?”  
  
The dwarf did not answer her at first, pulling himself a chair next to her bed.  
Gimli could feel empathize with Legolas’ fury and his subsequent actions when he  
cast his gaze upon the lady. He too felt a surge of anger at seeing her wound  
and the sadness in her eyes. If he could feel this way, Gimli could not even  
begin to imagine the hurt that Legolas must be enduring at this moment. It made  
it easier to understand why Legolas had set out on his lone quest, why he was  
determine to extract his pound of flesh from every Easterling in Middle earth.  
  
“He’s gone lass,” Gimli admitted after he had seated himself beside her.  
  
“Gone?” Melia’s eyes widened with alarm. “Where?”  
  
“To Mirkwood.”  
  
“To Mirkwood?” Melia sat up straighter. “Why?”  
  
“To show the Easterlings that if what they intended here was to frighten the  
elves out of participating in the war, then they were very much mistaken,” Gimli  
replied.  
  
“Thranduil will not commit his people to war,” Melia answered, knowing her  
father in law well enough now to be certain of this.  
  
Thranduil was a king very much concerned with his own realm. Unlike Elrond and  
Galadriel who had never deign to call themselves monarchs, Thranduil had  
relished the title as the Woodland king and he took his oath to protect his  
people seriously. Melia could not blame him for this because more than any other  
elven kingdom in Middle earth, Thranduil’s elves had been forced to endure  
Sauron’s presence on a daily basis.  
  
With Dol Guldur reeking out its evil in the woods of Mirkwood, turning the  
forests of Eryn Lasgalen into a treacherous haven for all manner of vile  
creatures, the elves had been forced to co-exist with this darkness for  
countless years. The burden of this had taken its toll upon Thranduil who had  
become somewhat insular. In a reign where every day might produce a new threat  
from the nearby enemy, Thranduil had been forced to think only of his own people  
and leave the concerns of Middle earth to those who had the time to expend in  
its care.  
  
During the treaty ceremony that would have seen a new peace forged between the  
Easterling Confederacy and the Council of Middle earth, Thranduil had been  
invited to take part but the king had refused, citing that it was not his  
concern. Melia knew that Legolas had been disappointed by this disinterest but  
he was unsurprised by his father’s lack of concern. He knew his father better  
than anyone and while Thranduil had consented enough to send him to Imladris  
during the quest of the ring, any more than was beyond Thranduil’s capacity.  
  
“I think you will make a compelling reason,” Gimli answered looking upon her  
with sympathy.  
  
“I do not wish him to beg his father for my sake,” Melia declared aggrieved by  
this.  
  
“I do not think it is merely your sake,” the dwarf replied but could not sound  
truly convincing. “I think this attack upon Eden Ardhon has awakened all the  
elves to some painful realisations, particularly for those who have chosen to  
remain in Middle earth for a time. I think they were of the belief that the  
affairs of men did not concern them and that as long as that they could remain  
untouched by violence and still go about as they pleased. This has been a swift  
kick in their complacency I’m afraid.” Gimli did not mention that the worst  
victim of this belief was Legolas himself. The lord of Eden Ardhon blamed  
himself completely for what had transpired. Try as Gimli might to think of some  
answer that would exonerate this guilt, the dwarf could not.  
  
This had come about because of Legolas’ involvement in the siege of Lossarnach.  
  
“The Prince blames himself,” Melia whispered softly. “He thinks that it is his  
fault that Eden Ardhon has suffered.”  
  
“I am afraid so,” Gimli could not bring himself to lie. “I do not think anyone  
else blames him. They understood that he had to help, that it was not in the  
nature of elves to sit by and allow innocents to be murdered. The price is high  
no doubt, higher than anyone perceived it to be but I do not think the people of  
Eden Ardhon hold the elf responsible for what has happened.”  
  
“They love him too much,” Melia said with a faint smile, an exertion that made  
her wince because of her split lip. “He is Legolas Greenleaf, one of the nine  
walkers and a legend himself. He could nothing that would lower their esteem of  
him. Unfortunately, my Prince will be capable of blaming himself quite  
sufficiently nevertheless.”  
  
“You should not be worrying about this,” Gimli said squeezing her uninjured hand  
tighter. “You should be resting. You should save your strength for yourself and  
let that fool elf you married do what he needs to. This is a road he must travel  
alone, lass. You cannot do it for him and you need to rest. You have been  
through an ordeal, one I might add was not your fault, because he will need you  
to be strong in the days to come.”  
  
“You are true friend Master Dwarf,” Melia looked upon him with great affection.  
Though her heart was heavy and the pain of Anna’s death still lingered in her  
heart, his words did offer her some comfort. “Does your wife know how fortunate  
she is?”

”Probably not,” he said full of devilish charm. “So if you enlighten her the  
next time you see her, I should be most grateful.”  
  
Melia uttered a small laugh before her expression melted into longing once more,  
“I wish he was here. I miss him.”  
  
“He will not be gone long,” Gimli assured her. “What he had to do could not  
wait.”  
  
“I know,” Melia sighed. “I have a premonition that for much my existence during  
and after this life, will be spent waiting for his arrival.”  
  
************  
  
He rode as if he were being chased by all the demons of the world.  
  
With his eye set firmly upon the road ahead, Legolas and his mount Arod, took  
the Harad Road and travelled northwards at best speed. Elf and horse maintained  
a swift pace with the mountains of Ephel Duath following his eastern flank.  
Arod carried him with far greater speed now that the beast was required to bear  
only one rider. For much of its service to Legolas, it had been required to  
carry elf and dwarf to many adventures. However, when saddled with only one  
passenger, the horse’s speed was very impressive indeed. The duo followed the  
Harad Road until they arrived at the island fortress of Cair Andros where Galain  
the Steward of this ancient stronghold was good enough to provide them with a  
means to travel the next leg of their journey.  
  
For a many days, Legolas sailed the sizeable vessel up the length of the Anduin,  
avoiding all together the harsh terrain of Emyn Muil and the ruined terrain of  
the Brown Lands. Speed was of the essence because the reason for his journey to  
important. With the armies of the Confederacy on the move across lands of the  
Reunified Kingdom and its allies with little or no hindrance, it was only a  
matter of time before they struck at a target that would not be able to repel  
them the way Lossarnach had done. Eden Ardhon could not claim that victory  
because the Easterlings had only remained long enough to inflict their lesson.  
They had no interest in acquiring elven territory.  
  
Legolas spent his time on the river thinking hard about what he would say to his  
father when their eyes beheld one another again. It was no small thing he was  
asking of his father but the crime against Eden Ardhon had proved one thing most  
conclusively. No elf remaining in Middle earth could choose to ignore the threat  
represented by the Easterlings should the war with the Reunified Kingdom fall in  
their favour. Imlardis was protected by the Ford of Bruinen and too far from  
the Confederacy to be of threat but the same could not be said of either Eryn  
Lasgalen or Lorien. It was only the forests that protected these realms from  
invading armies and the sacking of Eden Ardhon had proved that the enemy was not  
above burning it down around their ears to secure a victory.  
  
They travelled up the Anduin until they reached Gladden Fields before Legolas  
resumed the journey on horseback. Within a matter of days, he was riding up the  
familiar paths of the Woodland Realm, a place he had last beheld when he had  
left to establish his colony in South Ithilien. There so many memories pressing  
against him as he travelled through the land of his youth and so much of it  
remained the same while much had changed. Until Legolas felt the life of the  
forests soaking into his skin once more, he had not realised how much he had  
missed his home.  
  
His arrival was met with great joy and if the circumstances were anything but  
what they were, Legolas would have shared their happiness but he could not. When  
he thought of Melia, Miriel and all those other maidens who had been defiled to  
make some barbaric point about their interference in matters supposedly not  
their own, Legolas felt his blood surge with the fury anew. The kind of animals  
that would commit such a foul act upon women could not be allowed to gain  
ascendancy over Middle earth. It would akin to allowing Sauron or Morgoth  
dominion over the world again. It could not be permitted.  
  
When Legolas was found himself before Thranduil in the court of the Woodland  
Realm, he was somewhat surprised by how much older Thranduil appeared. Elves  
did not age in the same manner and they certainly did it at a far slower pace  
but it appeared to Legolas that his father had changed a little since his  
presence at Eden Ardhon some months ago when he and Melia were wed. Was  
Thranduil perhaps ready to leave Middle earth at last?  
  
“This is an unexpected surprise,” Thranduil said with warmth as he embraced his  
first and only son with great affection. “Is Melia with you?”  
  
“No father,” Legolas shook his head as he stepped back wondering if he should  
wait for a day to tell his father his reason for making this journey. It was odd  
because he had thought up all the words to say during the journey here but now  
that the moment was upon him, he felt like he was once again a boy trying to  
explain himself to his father. However, his memory shifted back to Melia, the  
desolation on her face, the tears she had wept as she told him of her ordeal at  
the hands of the Easterling and fury he felt returned with sharp intensity and  
gave him the courage he needed.  
  
“Eden Ardhon has been attacked father,” Legolas announced.  
  
“Attacked?” The Woodland king exclaimed with genuine shock. “By whom?”  
  
“Easterlings,” Legolas answered as he saw Thranduil returning to his throne.  
“You know that during the treaty negotiations they had allied themselves with  
the Haradrim so that they could speak to the Council of Middle earth with one  
voice.”  
  
“Yes, yes,” Thranduil said impatiently, more concerned about Eden Ardhon then  
the politics of the Easterlings and Southrons.  
  
“It appears that they are gathering more allies than we first believed. They  
have enlisted the aid of the Dunlendings, the goblins of Moria and all the  
former agents that served Sauron. They call themselves the Easterling  
Confederacy and their strength and numbers may be the largest army of their kind  
we have seen since the War of Ring.”  
  
“I told you that a treaty with them was a waste of time,” Thranduil replied,  
appreciating the scope of the threat, even if the conflict was a matter for men.  
  
Legolas ignored his father and continued with his commentary of events so that  
Thranduil could understand how Eden Ardhon had fallen prey to the Easterling  
hordes. “They destroyed the village of Lebethron as a warning to elves that the  
same would befall Eden Ardhon if we attempted to become involved.”  
  
“I take it you did not oblige them this request,” Thranduil stared at him.  
  
“I tried,” Legolas said softly, his eyes lowering to the floor. “Aragorn had  
told me that it was unwise to provoke them, lest they were to retaliate against  
Eden Ardhon.”  
  
“That was good advice,” Thranduil responded, offering his son no solace because  
he was now listening to Legolas as the king of the Woodland Realm, not his  
father. “The king of Gondor is wise. He seeks to save you from yourself.”  
  
“I had every intention of doing what he asked but he is my friend and when the  
Haradrim were discovered marching towards Lossarnach, I rode with him with  
Nunaur and a few others to aid in its defense. It was not my intention to  
embroil Eden Ardhon in the conflict.”  
  
“The Easterlings are hardly reasonable,” Thranduil said sympathetically. “They  
would not make the distinction. You are the lord of your realm and when you  
stand beside the king of Gondor, you do not stand as his friend, you stand there  
as a representative of your people. Your friendship with the Elfstone committed  
Eden Ardhon to war.”  
  
“Do you think I do not know that?” Legolas hissed. “I have paid the price for  
that father. They fell upon Eden Ardhon while I was still in Lossarnach. They  
set the forest ablaze and killed a good many of my people and very nearly  
destroyed the colony completely. Eden Ardhon stands but our heart has been torn  
open.”  
  
“I am sorry,” Thranduil rose from the throne and returned to his son. “The court  
of the Woodland Realm will provide any aid Eden Ardhon requires to recover from  
this terrible ordeal. You have my promise on that, my son.”  
  
“It is not your aid I wish father,” Legolas met Thranduil’s eyes. “It is your  
support in arms.”  
  
Thranduil blinked as if he had been mistaken in his hearing. “What did you say?”  
  
“You heard me,” Legolas replied, seeing no reason to repeat himself when it was  
clear Thranduil had understood his words. “I am committing Eden Ardhon to war.  
This insult against my people will be answered for. I am asking you to do the  
same. If you were to join the forces of the Reunified Kingdom then I am certain  
that Celeborn of Lorien will do the same.”  
  
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Thranduil stared at Legolas in  
astonishment, unable to believe that his very sensible son had made such a  
preposterous request. “You wish for the elves to go war?”  
  
“War will come if we do nothing!” Legolas returned sharply. “They butchered an  
entire village as a message to me that they will harm anyone who stands in their  
way and when I refused, they attacked my realm and defiled it! If they win this  
war and gain dominion over the lands of the Reunified Kingdom, how long do you  
think it will be before they turn their attention to their most ancient of  
enemies, the elves?”  
  
“We have been able to defend ourselves from Sauron and far worst things than a  
collection of human rabble, I do not think we will be in terrible danger,”  
Thranduil insisted.  
  
“Then you are a fool father,” Legolas answered. “Their leader has forged  
together an alliance the likes of which has not been seen since Sauron! If it  
were not for the One Ring and Sauron’s destruction, they could have won the war!  
Now they are no longer hindered by either and spurred on by a leader they will  
die to protect. If we do not take a stand in this, we will find ourselves  
surrounded on all sides!”  
  
“You are assuming the Reunified Kingdom will not win,” Thranduil retaliated but  
Legolas could see that the obdurate refusal had been weakened slightly.  
Thranduil was in no hurry to return to the Undying Lands. He liked being the  
Woodland king and hoped to remain so for quite some time; however, the world  
around Eryn Lasgalen would change irrevocably if he did not take a stand.  
  
“I have faith in my friends and in their courage but we dare not risk the chance  
that they may lose. If we were to join them in this, we will give them the  
strength to not only protect our borders but to push the enemy back to their  
territories and ensure that they will never rise again.” Legolas answered  
sincerely.  
  
Thranduil stared at his son for a moment because in the last few minutes he had  
noticed something in Legolas’ manner that he had not seen for a very long time.  
As a child, his son was everything a father could ask for. Fiercely loyal and  
brave beyond words and sometimes, Thranduil thought secretly, beyond sense.  
Legolas had always been the paragon of elven behaviour; he was everything that a  
son who was greatly loved by a father should be. However, Thranduil was aware  
that the boy had something of a temper. It did not rise often but when it did,  
even Thranduil knew to beware. As he looked upon his son, standing before him  
with a storm raging behind his eyes, the Woodland king wondered what had  
inspired his fury.  
  
“Legolas, what has happened?” Thranduil asked quietly.  
  
Legolas looked at his father, wishing he could lie but the truth wanted to come,  
no matter how ashamed he was of himself at his responsibility at what had  
transpired at Eden Ardhon because of him. Three thousand years old he may be,  
but there was still a tiny part of the Mirkwood’s prince that was a little boy  
needing his father’s comfort.  
  
“They raped Melia.”  
  
It escaped him in a small voice with tears welling in his eyes that shocked his  
father to no end because it had been years since Thranduil had seen his child so  
vulnerable and whether or not the boy was three years old or three thousand  
years old mattered little to his father. It still pierced the heart of the old  
man who immediately wrapped his arms around his son in an embrace of comfort.  
Finally, Thranduil understood Legolas’ insistence for the elves to join the  
conflict as well as the terrible, terrible guilt that he could see in his eyes.  
  
“I am so sorry my son,” Thranduil said gently. “How badly have they harmed her?”  
  
“Her spirit is in pieces,” Legolas answered, barely able to maintain his  
composure and not weep like a child. “She fought bravely to protect others and  
herself but there were too many of them and she was overcome. She grieves not  
for the violence of it but for her failure to save the others.”  
  
“She is an exceptional woman,” Thranduil replied sincerely, “a credit to her  
race.”  
  
“She was not alone father,” Legolas continued his speech, this time spoken from  
the heart rather than the heated tirade full of bluster. “The Easterlings raped  
many of our women as a lesson to the elves of what they would do if we stand  
against them. We cannot allow ourselves to be intimidated this way. They think  
that we are complacent and weak because we do not involve ourselves in the  
affairs of men and that they can inflict a lesson like this upon us without fear  
of reprisals. Father, if we do nothing then we deserve nothing but scorn for  
they have turned us into a race of cowards.”  
  
Thranduil flinched at the slight but he could not deny that his son’s words did  
not ring with truth. Rape was the most heinous crime that could be inflicted  
upon any elf, male or female. Some were willing to die rather than live with the  
shame and these Easterlings had blithely committed this atrocity under the guise  
of some deserved lesson that his son was required to learn. It infuriated him to  
think a member of his family, even if she was human, had been subjected to this  
humiliation. Many of the elves at Eden Ardhon had been of Eryn Lasgalen and  
though they were removed from his realm, Thranduil still felt some  
responsibility to them.  
  
“You ask a great deal my son,” Thranduil met Legolas’ gaze.  
  
The prince’s breath held because he could see that he had touched his father’s  
heart with his words and might have actually succeeded in convincing Thranduil  
to join him in this war. Choosing his next words carefully, Legolas spoke once  
more.  
  
“Father, I have never asked you anything in my life as important as this and I  
know that for you to agree would set our people on a perilous road but it is a  
road we must take. I do not deny that Melia’s treatment by the Easterlings  
influences my demand but my fury is also for my people and the fear that if we  
allow them this concession, they will commit the same atrocity again if we do  
not bend to their will.”  
  
Thranduil let out a heavy sigh, absorbing all of Legolas’ words and being unable  
to deny that he disliked the notion of the Easterling Confederacy believing that  
the elves were a diminished race that would suffer any humiliation to avoid  
combat. He wondered if they had any idea the storm they had provoked because of  
Eden Ardhon. Thranduil rather doubted it.  
  
Humans were never really far sighted.  
  
“I suppose that you had better get some rest,” Thandruil looked at his son. “It  
will be a long ride to East Lorien and we should make haste. Elbereth knows I  
will need all the strength I can get, trying to convince Celeborn to join us but  
no fear we will. If the Easterlings want a war, we will give them one that will  
send them scurrying back to their lands like the dogs they are. Complacent are  
we? We will show them that they know nothing about us at all and will pay in  
blood for that mistake.”  
  
Legolas smiled gratefully and felt utterly satisfied with his audience with the  
king of the Woodland Realm.  
  
The Easterlings wanted to teach the elves a lesson.  
  
Now it was time for them to learn a lesson of their own and what it means to  
wake a sleeping dragon.  



	10. Chapter Nine: The Battle of the Eastern Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed a bold plan, an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war.Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose.

  
The campaign of terror that had been kindled in Lebethron to sweep across Middle  
earth from Lossarnach to Eden Ardhon finally arrived in Emyn Arnen.  
  
When Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien was delivered the news that an army of Wainriders  
and Rhovanians were approaching Emyn Arnen from a northerly direction, she  
almost laughed at the masterful strategy of the Confederacy’s leader. The attack  
upon Lossarnach had rightly drawn away the bulk of Gondor’s forces to defend the  
vale and to reinforce the fortifications at Gondor. Until that threat was made  
known to them, it had been assumed by the king and by the lord of Ithilien that  
when war came to the lands of the Reunified Kingdom and its allies, it would do  
so from the east, striking at Ithilien first for it was the outermost fiefdom.  
  
However, with the threat appearing to be directed at Lossarnach, the armies had  
left Ithilien, led by Imrahil to answer the king’s call to arms to defend the  
city at all costs. Only a third of the army still remained in Emyn Arnen for it  
did not seem possible that the enemy could be at two places at once.  
Unfortunately, it was that assumption that left Ithilien in the situation it now  
faced. Reports, erratic as they were, spoke of widespread strife across Middle  
earth. Her own homeland of Rohan had fallen under attack, the Marshall of the  
Mark slaughtered by the goblins of Moria while rogue Dunlending tribes closed in  
on Edoras. There was even an unconfirmed rumour that the Easterlings had  
attacked Eden Ardhon, the elven colony in South Ithilien.  
  
Now, they were faced with the news from the Rangers that the Wainriders were  
marching upon Emyn Arnen with an army of warriors from Rhovanian. Word had been  
sent to Gondor and Lossarnach of the threat approaching Ithilien but it was  
difficult to discern where their forces were at this time for the enemy had been  
leading them on a merry chase indeed. Still, Eowyn was confident that Emyn  
Arnen’s defences would hold because a healthy contingent of soldiers still  
remained in Ithilien and in particular around Emyn Arnen itself.  
  
As soon as the news reached them of the impending attack, Eowyn had sent out  
word to all settlements to abandon their homes for safe havens until the enemy  
was dwelt with. Some took to the foothills of Ephel Duath while others retreated  
to the stronghold at Henneth Annum. Most however, flocked to Emyn Arnen,  
believing the only safest protection would come from the armies stationed there  
already. Their fear was no stranger to Eowyn, who in her time suffered similar  
experiences during the War of the Ring.  
  
The former White Lady of Rohan moved swiftly to counter the anxiety of her  
people by instilling in them the hope that they were lost and that the armies of  
Ithilien were more than capable of defending them against the scourge marching  
from the north. In truth, she believed it herself. The armies of Ithilien were  
in much better stead to match the Wainriders then the Rohirrim were against the  
overwhelming numbers of Saruman’s army of the White Hand during the War of the  
Ring.  
  
Once the countryside of Ithilien was removed of its people, the armies retreated  
to Emyn Arnen preparing to defend the stronghold from the invaders by taking  
advantage of the mountainous terrain that was the ruling centre of Ithilien.  
Reinforcements would take little more than a week to arrive from Gondor and  
Lossarnach but while the fortress of Emyn Arnen was nowhere as formidable as the  
Hornburg, it was well secured and could withstand a siege until the Prince of  
Ithilien returned. After all, the last war had ensured that the numbers of the  
Wainriders were sufficiently depleted and the men of Rhovanian were unseasoned  
warriors in this particular arena of battle.  
  
Eowyn had no intention of fighting though the decision had been a difficult one  
to make. For the first time in her life, she was forced to concede that it was  
necessary for her to step aside and let others fight for her. It was a hard  
decision to make for one was self-sufficient as she. All her life, Eowyn had  
been forced to endure the belief that women should be protected and even though  
women of Rohan were not above picking up a sword, it was something that they  
were not called upon to do. Her prowess with the sword was something that she  
had learnt in secret, her only confidante the brother she loved dearly. Even at  
the Battle of Pelennor, she was forced to ride with the Rohirrim in disguise  
where she distinguished herself in battle despite the loss of Theoden.  
  
Now, she had to make a conscious decision to yield because it was not merely her  
life that was held in the balance but also the life of the babe slumbering  
inside of her.  
  
In the weeks since her husband’s departure, little had changed in her body that  
allowed anyone else to guess that she was with child. Eowyn knew she should have  
told Faramir the truth prior to his departure but she feared that doing so would  
make it harder for him to leave. However, it now appeared that the war was not  
going to be ended swiftly and he needed to know that there was something greater  
than both of them from which to draw hope. As the days progressed, Eowyn began  
to look forward to telling him and remembered how pleased he had been when she  
suggested naming their first child after his beloved brother, Boromir.  
  
She worried a little about the attack coming, aware that in every engagement  
there was risk but the contingent advancing upon them were reportedly equal to  
the forces that would be defending Emyn Arnen. Like the rest of Ithilien’s war  
masters, Eowyn surmised that this attack was just another effort by the  
Easterling Confederacy to show the Reunified Kingdom its ability to assail their  
enemies on all fronts. While the advancing army was not to be taken lightly  
under any circumstances, the warriors of Ithilien were confident that they were  
capable of holding their own until the rest of their armies returned to take  
part in its defence.  
  
The fortress and watchtower, known as the Eastern Eye and home to the Prince of  
Ithilien was constructed upon the hills of Emyn Arnen and sat almost at the peak  
of this slight range. In the days before Hurin had been made the Ruling Steward,  
Emyn Arnen was the traditional home of the Steward of Gondor. Built in the years  
following the Battle of the Camp, the purpose of the Eastern Eye was to maintain  
a vigil over the lands of Rhun, to ensure that the Wainriders were not able to  
rise up again and trouble the kingdom of Gondor. Unfortunately, following the  
vanquishment of the Wainriders, the fortress found it had a new enemy to concern  
itself with.  
  
In the year 2002 of the Third Age, the witch king who had led the destruction at  
Angmar struck at Minas Ithil and took the Gondorian city for his master Sauron,  
bestowing upon it the name of Minas Morgul. The conflict which was to end with  
the death of King Eärnur often found its direction utilising the intelligence  
gathered by the watchers of the Eastern Eye and during the course of the  
fighting, its walls had been the last safe refuge for the people who dwelt in  
Ithilien.  
  
After the death of Eärnur and the ascendancy of Hurin, the Eastern Eye was  
abandoned because Gondor was too weakened to maintain a permanent fighting force  
within its walls. With the darkness of Mordor spreading outwards, many of the  
folk who resided in North Ithilien chose to depart to safer lands and the  
Eastern Eye was eventually forgotten. It was only in recent years that the  
Rangers of Ithilien had adopted it as one of their many havens during their war  
with Sauron. With the return of king, Emyn Arnen had once again been returned to  
the Steward and Faramir had embarked upon a course to restore the Eastern Eye to  
its former occupation.  
Perched almost upon the peak of Emyn Arnen, the Eastern Eye was fortified with  
high stonewalls that were serrated along its edges, like a row of uneven teeth.  
Stone spikes protruded outwards from the wall with the same irregularity, making  
it difficult for the enemy to secure their ladders against the wall without the  
use of ropes. The palace itself was a series of terraced levels, the lowest was  
an encircling canyon of solid rock, where the enemy who breached the walls would  
be required to penetrate massive doors leading into the rest of the structure.  
  
The highest point in the Eastern Eye was stone spire that rose above the  
fortress, providing an unimpeded view of the surrounding terrain for many  
leagues. A great horn occupied the space within the guard tower. When sounded,  
there was not a corner of Emyn Arnen that would not hear its alert. The top of  
the spire bore the ring of a walkway wide enough for several men. This had been  
an added construction, built when the Eastern Eye found itself contending with  
Mordor, in particular the Witch King and his flying Winged Beasts.  
  
While Faramir had turned the palatial residence of the Eastern Eye into a place  
of beauty for his bride, there were some parts of it that retained its martial  
appearance. The Lord of Ithilien had lived far too long with the threat of  
enemies at his borders to be capable of allowing peace to make him complacent.  
In between the canyon of stone and the tall spire, was a residence as royal as  
any might be, befitting the lord and lady of the realm, yet both were too  
accustomed to war to do away with the fortifications.  
  
Eowyn had been more than ready to lead her people to the large halls beneath the  
Eastern Eye where refugees in the past had flocked together in safety during  
great battles, when she heard the great horn booming in her ears with its  
baleful din. It sounded like the songs of the tree shepherds whose voices could  
be heard from the forests of Fangborn. She felt a pang of longing as she ushered  
the last of her people into the underground sanctuary, wishing very much to  
join the battle before common sense prevailed. It was her responsibility to  
protect her baby and if doing so meant allowing others to protect her instead,  
then Eowyn would do so even if it were begrudgingly.  
  
Following the winding staircase into the darkness below the fortress, Eowyn was  
more than prepared to leave the warriors of Ithilien to their battle when she  
heard above her, the horn blaring once again. She paused in her advance below  
and puzzled at this second issue for the sounding of the great horn was not to  
be taken lightly. Though it may seem like a simple mechanism for alerting their  
warriors, there were complexities to its signal that was a language on its own  
and to her hearing at this moment, the great horn was telling her that something  
unexpected had taken place.  
  
Despite the promises made to protect herself, Eowyn abandoned her descent  
momentarily and hurried up the steps, determined to learn what warranted the  
second sounding of the great horn. When she emerged on the surface once more,  
she saw that the urgency that was evident upon the faces of all warriors had  
changed drastically. She watched them for a moment, taking in the organised  
chaos that had become pandemonium. It appeared that suddenly, their preparations  
were no longer enough. More and more swords and arrows were being raced to the  
warriors on the wall. Spears and pikes were hoisted to the walls with the  
weapons kept in reserve now produced for apparent use.  
  
Elsewhere, the great doors were being fortified and braced, not merely with wood  
but wagons and barrels were being piled against the entrance, ensuring that even  
if the thick wooden doors would yield, no one would be able to penetrate the  
barricade being placed before it. If the sudden need for more fortifications  
were not evidence enough for some alteration in their circumstances, then the  
panic and anxiety she saw in the faces of the men who rushed past her without  
looking up to notice her presence was proof enough. Eowyn felt her heard begin  
to pound in alarm and saw Beregond, the captain of the guard stationed against  
the wall, shouting orders to his men.  
  
Eowyn picked up her skirts and hurried up the steps to the wall, determined to  
learn the truth. Her heart was pounding so fiercely that she suspected she knew  
the answer even if it would take Beregond to confirm it. Praying inwardly that  
she was wrong, she made her way to Ithilien’s trusted captain barely earning  
notice from Ithilien’s warriors who were too busy with their preparations. As  
she neared Beregond, the former soldier of Gondor lifted his gaze and caught  
sight of her before his expression evaporated into shock.  
  
“Lady Eowyn!” Beregond exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You should be below  
with the rest of the women and children!”  
  
“You know perfectly well that I am not just another woman Captain,” she said  
firmly, forgiving him his reaction because she was more interested in what they  
were facing. “Now what is happening? I hear the great horn sounding again and it  
does not appear to be the signal of the first.”  
  
“No it is not my lady,” Beregond shook his head, coming to the conclusion that  
he did not have time to argue with her about her safety because she would only  
turn a deaf ear and because at this moment, the presence of the shield maiden of  
Rohan was not an unwelcomed thing.  
  
“Look to the north,” he instructed Eowyn.  
  
Eowyn followed his gaze and saw the army of the Wainriders of Rhun. Despite  
having seen worse at Helm’s Deep and the battle of Pelennor, the army, four  
thousand strong, appeared quite formidable indeed. However, it should have been  
no shock to them because they had anticipated this very number when news had  
come from the Rangers of this eminent attack. These were large numbers to say  
the least, but there was enough troops left behind in Ithilien, when Faramir and  
Imrahil had set out to Lossarnach, to hold the Eastern Eye in such a conflict.  
They had been prepared for it. What had changed that struck so much fear into  
the hearts of these seasoned soldiers?  
  
“It is the army of the Wainriders,” Eowyn nodded, “it is what we expected.”  
  
“Come with me,” Beregond spoke as he started away from her. The captain  
travelled along the length of the wall, striding past the soldiers arming their  
quivers with as much arrows as it could carry, ensuring that other weapons were  
in close reach other than the swords in their scabbards. Eowyn called out to  
Beregond, insisting that the captain tell her where they were going. It was not  
only until they had reached the southern wall did he paused and regard.  
  
“Look there,” he said simply.  
  
Eowyn turned to the south and felt her breath catch in her throat, realising at  
last what had been the cause of the panic that was sweeping through the  
fortress. In the distance was the Easterling army. She knew that they were  
Easterlings because the army moving towards them like a swarm across the plain  
was surrounded by at least three dozen mumakils. The Easterlings were not alone,  
she saw the banner of the black serpent flying high above the invaders and knew  
that the Haradrim were also there. Her breath caught in her throat when she  
realised that she was looking at a force almost equal to the one she and her  
people had faced Helm’s Deep.  
  
“That was their plan,” she whispered softly.  
  
“My lady?” Beregond stared at her.  
  
“It was their plan,” Eowyn met his gaze somewhat dazed. “They attacked  
Lebethron, Lossarnach, Edoras and possibly Eden Ardhon to scattered our forces  
across Middle earth. It was Ithilien that they wanted all along. The other  
attacks were merely to draw away a good portion of our forces instead of keeping  
them here to protect our eastern borders. Ithilien is full of grain, north and  
south. From here, they can not only feed their army but they can also feed their  
people. Their lands are under threat of famine, they need Ithilien for its crops  
but so long as the Eastern Eye is fortified, they could never pillage it  
safely.”  
  
“We have sent word to Lord Faramir,” Beregond answered. “He will return soon  
with our armies,” It did not occur to Beregond to doubt her estimation of their  
circumstances because he had been captain of the guard in Ithilien long enough  
to know that the Lady Eowyn knew a good deal about war craft and often sat at  
her husband’s right hand to provide opinions in such matters. Lord Faramir loved  
her not only for her courage but because she had the strategic acumen of a  
warrior.  
  
“There are almost ten thousand warriors converging upon us like a pack of  
wolves. We but number two thousand in all totality, our ability to hold the  
Eastern Eye becomes uncertain with such odds,” she met his gaze.  
  
Beregond opened his mouth to answer but Eowyn gave him no chance to speak.  
  
“However, we will hold this fortress,” she said firmly, walking past him. “If I  
have discerned this plan then I am certain that Faramir and Aragorn will do so  
soon enough if they have not already. We will prevail until those reinforcements  
arrives.”  
  
“They will not breach this walls my lady,” Beregond spoke with more confidence  
than he felt but neither he nor the Lady Eowyn were willing to admit this fact  
to each other.  
  
Faith in their ability to overcome would be a far greater tool to their survival  
than all the weapons in Ithilien. Without speaking the words, Eowyn and Beregond  
made an unspoken pact that no matter what happened during the course of the  
battle, their faith in the ability to overcome would be unshakeable. The  
warriors who battled this night had to believe that it no matter how strong the  
enemy appeared to be. Eowyn remembered how Theoden had fought at Helm’s Deep.  
They had held for as long they did because of his unshakeable belief that they  
would prevail and she was determined that it would be the same here. They would  
survive.  
  
“I supposed it would useless for me to tell you that you would be safer below?”  
Beregond met her eyes with a faint smile after the moment had passed and the  
understanding between them was cemented.  
  
“Even my lord would not be able to keep me out of this battle,” Eowyn returned  
with a faint smile. “What makes you think you will succeed where he could not?”  
  
“I was a fool to assume such,” he replied with unhidden admiration. “I would  
have you safely below my lady but you slew the witch king and fought with us at  
the Battle of Pelennor. You are too skilled to be wasted waiting below.”  
  
“Thank you,” Eowyn answered graciously but this was one battle she wished she  
did not have to fight.  
  
***********  
  
  
Dernhelm breathes once more.  
  
Gazing into the mirror of her chambers, Eowyn had dressed alone and tried to  
ignore the overwhelming sound of silence within the empty halls of the royal  
residence. In stark contrast to the quiet within, the sounds of preparation  
beyond its walls were at a juggernaut pace. The enemy was not far, she surmised  
by the haste in which everyone was moving. She would need to join them soon.  
Tying her long golden hair into a thick braid, she then turned her attention to  
the most important aspect of her preparation.  
  
Adjusting the belt around her waist, she ensured that the sheath of her sword  
hung comfortably from her hip. Once it was secured, Eowyn slipped Anglachel into  
its scabbard. The sword forged by the Dark Elf Eol, had come to her when she and  
Arwen had set out on the quest to keep the ancient enemy Glaurung from infusing  
the spirit of Morgoth in Arwen’s unborn child. They had retrieved the weapon  
after slaying the worms guarding it and then used the weapon to slay Glaurung  
himself. Arwen had made a gift of the sword to Eowyn after the quest was done,  
as a gesture of gratitude for her courage.  
  
When Eowyn looked into the mirror and saw the Shield Maiden of Rohan staring  
back at her, she knew she was ready at last for the battle ahead. She turned to  
leave the chamber shared by herself and her lord when suddenly, the will to  
leave faded. In a daze, her eyes drifted to her belly, her hand leaving the hilt  
of her sword to caress gently the slight swell of her stomach. No one else in  
Emyn Arnen knew and if she died today, they would never know.  
  
“I did not mean for this to happen,” she said softly, as if the child nesting  
comfortably in her belly could hear and understand her. “I did not wish to fight  
but the choice is taken from me in this. I am what I am, my child. I am the  
daughter of kings and it is has been in my lot for as long as I can remember to  
be what I am. I no longer know how to deny it. For you I would have lowered my  
sword but the battle beyond these walls will not allow me the chance to do  
nothing. So I must go and risk both of us. I wish that it had not come to this,  
I wish that your father were here and I grieve that I did not tell him about you  
because he deserved to know the glimmer of hope that you were, even briefly. I  
wish that I were different but I am not. They are our people and they need me.”  
  
And with that, Eowyn looked up and hurried out of the chamber to join the  
battle.  
  
**************  
  
In stony silence, the defenders of Ithilien watched as the Wainriders reached  
the foot of Emyn Arnen and advanced no further. The enemy lowered their shields  
and their weapons, keeping themselves beyond the reach of Ithilien’s archers and  
simply waited. They made no move towards the fortress and this lack of movement  
was harder against the nerves of those on the wall, then open combat. This  
limbo seemed to breed greater anxiety upon the warriors of Ithilien though ti  
was no mystery why the enemy had chosen to wait. The noonday sun rose high in  
the clouds and crossed across the sky into afternoon before the wait for both  
sides came to and end.  
  
The Easterlings and the Haradrim, having met at the banks of the Anduin as each  
army neared Emyn Arnen, now moved as one and made their way northwards at a  
rapid pace. They were led by their mumakils whose size and strength was capable  
of accomplishing what a thousand men armed with battering rams could not and  
that was to break open the gates of the fortress. They reached the Wainriders  
and the army of Rhun as the afternoon grew late and as the sun began to set,  
turned their eyes to their quarry in the twilight hour. Once the enemy was  
gathered in its terrible numbers, the defenders of Ithilien held their breaths  
in anticipation of the inevitable order to proceed. Warriors rushed to the  
gate, armed with long spears and equally sharp pikes, painfully aware that if  
the gate was breached then the Eastern Eye would be lost and perhaps with it,  
Ithilien itself.

”UNTASARE!”

 

The word had no recognition to the people of the Westerness for the language was  
that of that Haradrim but of it’s meaning there could be no doubt. The earth  
shuddered as the great horde began its swift advance across the hills framing  
the peak of Emyn Arnen. They moved across the land like an ocean swell, a tide  
of bodies rushing to meet the shore. The mumakils numbers were divided with one  
contingent taking the beaten path of dirt through the hills that would lead them  
straight to the main entrance of the fortress while the other advanced with  
their army. The great beasts curled their trunks and raised their heads as they  
charged, dozens of men borne on their backs, ensuring that once they broke  
through, there would be warriors to flood the opening.  
  
It was decided that there were too many of the enemy to meet them on the field  
so the defense would take place on the wall. Archers lined its length, with bows  
armed, ready to release a deadly barrage upon the enemy as soon as they neared.  
Beregond took charge of directing the archers while Eowyn hurried along the wall  
to the gates because she was certain that it was there that they were at their  
most vulnerable. She saw the awesome might of the mumakils moving up the path  
towards the great doors and knew that the warriors charged with barring that  
entry to the enemy were rushing to brace the door even as she stood watching.  
  
“Release!” Beregond’s voice snapped her out of her observation and she turned to  
see a wall of arrows surging through the air like a black storm. They slammed  
into the enemy with such force that the sudden halt of so many was like a ripple  
in the tide. As they fell to the ground, the others behind them forged on ahead,  
trampling them underfoot without concern. Though the journey took them over  
hilly terrain, it did not hinder their rapid progress at all and the scaled the  
hills separating them from the fortress with surprising speed. More arrows tore  
into their numbers and the cycle of death was repeated as they neared the base  
of the wall. Some had paused to return arrows of their own.  
  
Eowyn flinched seeing crossbows employed, thinking how much like Melia’s weapon  
they looked. It was easy to forget Melia’s origins because of their friendship  
but the lady of Eden Ardhon had made no secret of it. Melia was not ashamed of  
where she had come from, merely saddened by the way her people had been moulded  
to suit Morgoth’s and then later on, Sauron’s purpose. Eowyn wondered what Melia  
must think of all this and hoped that she would survive enough to see her friend  
again.  
  
A scream brought her back to the moment when she saw an arrow embed itself in  
one of the soldiers near her. His scream followed him to the ground when he  
toppled over the edge of the wall and landed hard. Eowyn immediately took cover  
behind the wall and crawled to avoid the reach of arrows parlaying back and  
forth between invaders and defenders. The enemy had yet to reach the wall but  
she could hear the rumble of their approach growing louder in her ears with each  
second. Upon reaching the gate, she saw the bracing continuing and the  
barricade growing so large that even with the doors were to yield, the enemy  
would have difficult entering.  
  
Looking over the edge of the walls, she saw the mumakils were making better time  
than their human counterparts. Their journey along the road created a cloud of  
dust around them, making it difficult to see the exact number of men they  
carried. Their size was so enormous that they stood almost the height of the  
wall and Eowyn wondered if it was wholly possible to keep them out. They were  
not far now, within the reach of arrows and Eowyn knew the order to shoot would  
have to come soon. They had to stops the animals from reaching the gates because  
she suspected that despite all the precautions, the barricades would not hold.  
  
“Shoot now!” Eowyn shouted.  
  
“We must wait until they are closer!” One of the minor captains leading the  
defense of the gates protested.  
  
“You cannot afford to!” Eowyn barked back sharply, her eyes shifting back and  
forth from the mumakils to the man before her. “You must keep as many of them  
away from the gates as possible. I do not know if we will be able to stop one,  
let alone five! NOW SHOOT!”  
  
The captain wrestled with the decision briefly, his face showing his anxiety at  
what was coming at them. The thick horns alone would have little trouble  
spearing the wooden doors, to say nothing of what their physical strength was  
capable of doing.  
  
“We do not have a great deal of time!” Eowyn insisted, prompting him into a  
decision.  
  
“Release the arrows!” He shouted turning away.  
  
The archers let loose their arrows, causing a deadly barrage to strike the  
charging mumakils. The beasts bellowed in pain as some of the arrows met their  
mark but their thick hides made any serious damage impossible. The bombardment  
had better affect upon the men perched upon the creatures’ backs then the  
mumakils themselves. Their charge did not halt despite the arrows that could be  
seen protruding from their bodies, trailing rivulets of blood down their flanks.  
If anything the pain seemed to make them run faster and their bellowing grew  
louder and louder as they approached the door.  
  
Eowyn and the warriors stationed on the wall quickly grabbed spears while others  
armed themselves with pikes as the distance between the gates and the mumakils  
grew shorter. They had to avoid being struck by archers riding the backs of the  
beasts, attempting to clear the path to the gate. She flung her spear as far as  
it would go and had some measure of success as the weapon struck the first in  
the throat. However, while the pain registered upon the creature, it did little  
to hinder its advance. The beast was simply too big to be halted in that  
fashion. Eowyn was starting to wonder if anything could.  
  
“Brace yourselves!” She heard someone shout.  
  
Eowyn quickly grabbed hold of the stone edge as she saw the distance between the  
mumakils and the gate close.  
  
“Archers! We must kill as many of the riders as we can!” She shouted to anyone  
listening. It seemed like the more achievable goal then attempting to stop the  
mumakils.  
  
Her advice seemed to be accepted as wise for a phalanx of arrows was soon  
surging across the sky towards the enemy. It struck many of the riders upon the  
back of the mumakils as the beast near the gate and sent many falling to their  
deaths after they were pierced by arrows. Unfortunately, this success was small  
in comparison to the calamity that would befall the fortress now that the  
mumakils were upon them. The beasts slammed into the gates so hard that even the  
stone pillars beside it shuddered in protest. Eowyn could see chunks of mortar  
coming loose from the cracks where the stone slabs met. She had to hold on  
tight or else she would have been thrown to the ground as many of the men on the  
wall. The wooden gates strained against the impact but managed to hold for the  
moment. The collision renewed attempts to bring down the animals but the  
mumakils were quick to resume their relentless pounding. The defenders were now  
hurling anything they could lay their hands upon to stop the beasts from  
breaking through.  
  
Eowyn hurled spears at the beast that was soon joined by another and under the  
heavy assault of these formidable creatures; she could feel the wall beginning  
to weaken. The wooden gates were buckling under the strain of the mumakils’  
bombardment. Wood began to splinter despite the best efforts of the defenders to  
brace the doors. Unfortunately, it was losing battle as the pounding continued  
without pause until at last, the doors gave way dull crack of wood tearing  
apart. Not only did the door give way but the back of the bracing was snapped in  
half under the power of the mumakils. Even the wall to which the doors were  
attached broke apart with a great heave.  
  
Eowyn felt the weight the floor give way beneath her and only managed to keep  
herself from being buried under debris of the collapsing wall because she had  
dug her nails deep into the stone and refuse to be pulled down. Others were not  
so fortunate though they were unable to lament their fate from beneath the pile  
of stones they had been buried. Eowyn pulled herself to safety and look below  
her, hoping that not all who had fallen had been entombed. Yet she could see no  
signs of life, no heaving of dust and rock to indicate that someone was  
burrowing out of their prison. Nor was there any time to dig them out if any  
were injured because once the wall had crumbled, the enemy had directed its  
attention from the frontal assault to infiltration of the newly created opening.  
  
The invasion of the fortress appeared on two fronts, from the diverted forced  
attempting to scale the walls and the contingent of warriors riding the backs of  
the mumakils had broken through the gates. The beasts forced themselves past  
the opening, ferrying their masters deeper into the walls of the Eastern Eye.  
Once within the perimeter of the walls, the Easterlings lowered themselves to  
the ground with ropes. Eowyn watched in growing horror at the growing number of  
enemy filling the floor below her. With a heavy heart, she began to see the  
fortress was taken; that the beloved home she shared with Faramir would fall.  
  
Valor did not come without a price, she told herself and unsheathed her sword.  
Along the wall, she could see the enemy beginning to overwhelm the exhausted  
warriors of Ithilien who had fought bravely and continued to fight, even though  
each of them that fell was replaced by another enemy troops penetrating their  
front. It would be a fight to the death, she decided as she rushed forward to  
ensure that she did not go to her end without ensuring a good many of the enemy  
went with her. Eowyn swung Anglachel at the first Easterling warrior that came  
into sight, taking his head away from his shoulders in one single strike. The  
decapitated skull spun into the air as the body dropped to the floor without  
further resistance.  
  
Eowyn did not wait to see where it landed before another enemy soldier  
confronted her. The curved blade came at her with the same force she had  
delivered to his predecessor. She blocked it easily, no stranger to a stronger  
opponent because her sparring partner had been a man of the Mark, a race of  
physical strength in comparison to these Easterlings who were lean, agile and  
relied more upon cunning than power to fight. Unfortunately for him, being a  
woman, Eowyn’s fighting skills were an amalgamation of both. She kicked out  
with her foot as their swords met, the ball of her heel meeting the soft flesh  
of his stomach and driving him backwards, breaking their connection. Whilst he  
was off balance, she surged forward in a powerful offensive. He tried to recover  
the weakness but Eowyn never gave him the change and tore open his chest before  
he could raise his sword to deflect her blow.  
  
Realising that a formidable warrior had entered their midst, at least three of  
them charged her. Eowyn dodged the blow of the first as he struck. Slipping  
under his blade, she took a swipe at the second closing in on her, slicing his  
throat with a well-coordinated strike. Blood spilled forth from his bleeding  
throat as he dropped to his knees. Eowyn turned around and caught the blade of  
the first, forcing him back with an equally powerful strike. He staggered  
slightly but did not falter and returned with even more ferocity. Eowyn defended  
herself capably before her senses felt the presence of the third, waiting for  
the moment to inflict the killing blow. Her eyes turned just in time to see a  
sword raised over her head, the blade about to come down upon her skull. She had  
little chance to do anything as she was still fighting his companion and was  
struck by this terrible feeling of failure because she was about to die.  
  
Suddenly, the point of an arrow burst through his chest.  
  
The sudden death of his comrades distracted both her opponent and Eowyn for a  
brief instance but it was Eowyn who recovered first because it was her life that  
had suddenly been given a chance of continuing. She smashed a fist wrapped in a  
gauntlet of mail into his faceplate, causing blood to spill from the seams and  
impaled him with Anglachel before he had opportunity to do anything else.  
Without wasting any time, she promptly shoved him over the edge of the walkway,  
not bothering to see his fate upon hitting the ground. Turning to the man who  
had died, Eowyn’s eyes noticed something she had been unable to earlier. Her  
hand flew to the arrow and ran her thumb across its flight.  
  
It was elven.  
  
Turning sharply in the direction of where it had come, she saw what the other  
defenders of Ithilien were now beginning to notice themselves. In the nearby  
distance, closing in on the dark forces arrayed against them was an army of  
light. Armour shinning like polished gold, astride horses without saddles,  
directed by a language man would never understand or be able to speak, the elves  
made their arrival.  
  
For a moment, Eowyn thought she was dreaming for an alliance of men and elves  
had not existed in three thousand years, not since the defeat of Sauron when the  
ring had been cut from his hand. She blinked and saw that they did not fade like  
a dream was meant to but were still closing in. They had begun the slaughter of  
the enemy with arrows, sending a deadly barrage that was met every mark aimed.  
The enemy army turned away from the Eastern Eye to confront this new threat that  
numbered in the thousands. Eowyn did not think she would see so many elves in  
her lifetime. She did not even think that there were so many left in Middle  
earth but it appeared she was wrong. She estimated an army, at least four  
thousand strong.  
  
Relief flooded into her being upon seeing the elves approaching the enemy flank.  
Now the defenders of Ithilien could focus on expelling the mumakils from their  
walls. The enemy had began to drift away from the wall as they prepared to  
engage the elves while some still remained at the wall, dividing their forces  
even further. A dark shadow suddenly loomed over her whilst her attention was  
focussed on the shift of the battle. Eowyn swung around to meet his new threat  
and saw herself facing a mumakils that was charging at the wall, out of control.  
The beast’s body was a bloody collection of pikes, spears and arrows. She could  
see the pain in its eyes as it rumbled forward.  
  
“JUMP!” She heard someone shout.  
  
Without thinking twice, Eowyn leapt into the air, when the swaying trunk of the  
animal struck her hard and swatted her aside like a fly. Eowyn felt the pain  
coursing through her body as the ground rushed up to meet her. Struck by the  
fear of what was coming, she managed to pull her knees beneath her chin and  
holding her body into a tight ball before she landed, protecting her child as  
much as she was capable. She did not even know where Anglachel had gone, aware  
only briefly that it was torn from her hands. Thoughts such as this moved  
through her mind at the pace of an instant before she saw the ground reaching  
for her. Her landing was hard. The pain surged through her side and progressed  
across the rest of her, dragging a curtain of blackness over her entire being  
until she knew nothing more.  
  
************  
  
For the elves, the attack upon Eden Ardhon was not a warning of neutrality but a  
declaration of war.  
  
The race of men, save perhaps the heirs of the Numenor, existed under the belief  
that the elves were a peaceful, beings of starlight that had long ago  
transcended the ugly emotions that still plagued all others. The elves were an  
ideal of purity and grace, a monument to the splendour of a past golden age that  
rapidly in decline. Perhaps it was this perception that contributed to the  
ignorance of the race’s nature. Serenity and peace was merely a by-product of  
being ageless. Once could not live so long without learning nothing and the  
elves had ample of time to become better than what they were because they had  
been provided with immortality to do so.  
  
The myth had become so prevalent that the reality of what they once were, had  
been forgotten. The elves had lived during the worst ages of Middle earth, they  
had survived Morgoth and wars that made Sauron’s bid for power pale in  
comparison and they did so because they knew how to defend themselves and they  
knew how to win despite overwhelming odds. When wronged, they hungered for  
battle as thirstily as any other race and they avenged with as much vigour.  
  
The attack on Eden Ardhon had shaken them to the core because all were incensed  
by the arrogance that permitted the enemy to forget who they were dealing with.  
The enemy had dared to believe that the elves would bow down to intimidation  
when not even Sauron or Morgoth had made them falter in their course. When  
Thranduil announced to the Woodland realm what had happened to Eden Ardhon, the  
fury displayed by Legolas became a firestorm that would not burn itself out  
until the enemy was vanquished. Many of the elves in the Woodland Realm were kin  
to those who had been killed or defiled in Eden Ardhon and honour demanded that  
restitution be made in blood.  
  
At East Lorien, similar outrage was expressed. Celeborn had been easy to  
convince because Miriel had been a loyal friend and ally to his wife Galadriel  
and the dishonour to her sparked his fury. Haldir, whose feeling for the Lady  
Melia had simmered in a deep friendship, shared Legolas need to exact vengeance  
upon the Easterlings who presumed to defile the Lady of Eden Ardhon. Within  
days, an army that likes of which had not been assembled for many millennia  
departed the forest of Mirkwood and made swift journey southwards. They had not  
travelled far when they discovered that another army was on the move, only a few  
days before them.  
  
It was Legolas who discerned where they were going and ordered that the army he  
commanded with Haldir, as his lieutenant to make haste, for it appeared Ithilien  
would need their aid. Thranduil and Celeborn had remained in their respective  
realms, preferring to allow Legolas and Haldir to lead their armies since they  
were needed to rule. Word had also been sent to Imladris that should Elladan and  
Elrohir choose to involve themselves within this conflict then Rohan would be  
benefit from their aid now that the goblins of Moria had allied themselves with  
the Dunlendings. The lands of Rohan had to be guarded now that the formidable  
cavalry of the Rohirrim was divided between providing aid to Gondor as well as  
guarding their own.  
In the meantime, they had work to do in Ithilien. Legolas knew that the  
Gondorian army was not far away. Upon discovering the presence of an army making  
its way to Ithilien, Legolas had sent riders at best speed to intercept the  
Gondorian army and alert them of the danger. Whether or not those forces  
arrived at Emyn Arnen in time did not matter much in the scheme of things  
because the elves would reach the besieged fortress first.  
  
Upon approaching the fortress called the Eastern Eye, Legolas with his keen eyes  
had seen Faramir’s lady, Eowyn battling a trio of enemy warriors. The elf could  
not help but admire the skill of the woman to be able to defend herself because  
her swordsmanship was easily one of the best he had ever seen. However, the  
numbers were against her and as he saw the one of her attackers preparing to  
deliver a fatal blow, the archer immediately drew his an arrow from his bow and  
dispatched quickly her would be killer.  
  
“Haldir!” He called out to the march warden in elvish. “Take half our people to  
help with the defence of the wall! The rest of you follow me. The fortress has  
been breached by the mumakils. Unless we drive them out, there will tear it  
apart!”  
  
The army of elves separated like a flock of birds parted against the wind.  
Legolas saw Haldir urging those behind him to charge at the enemy at the wall.  
The prince of the Woodland Realms and the Lord of Eden Ardhon was determined to  
kill every last invader within the walls of Ithilien because mumakils were the  
beasts of burden for Easterlings and Legolas was almost certain it was they who  
had invaded Eden Ardhon and defiled his beloved Melia. As he led the charge  
towards the breached gates, gapping open like wound, Legolas was determined to  
make the enemy pay in blood for what they had done to her.  
  
He carved himself a path to the gates in bodies as arrow after arrow escaped  
Galadriel’s gift to him, meeting their mark with each effort. Bodies felt away  
like the wind blowing away leaves until he passed through the ruin gate and  
began to turn his attention to the mumakils. The beasts were big and they  
towered over the horses flooding the fortress the same ways the enemy had done  
earlier. Under the direction of their masters, the huge beasts were now  
assaulting the protective walls around the fortress with similar. Ithilien’s  
warriors were having great difficulty trying to defend the wall against the  
invaders when they had to fear the mumakils.  
  
Legolas thought quickly and an idea came to him at that moment. He searched the  
chaos of fighting around him and saw what he needed. Slinging his bow over his  
shoulder, Legolas removed his sword and cut his way through to the torch that  
had so far managed to remain undisturbed. Once there, he put away his weapon  
once more and retrieved his bow. Arming it with an arrow, Legolas lowered the  
arrowhead into the fire and saw the flame snaking down the shaft. It did not  
take long before the arrowhead was burning with strength and Legolas took aim,  
his blue eyes fixed upon the beasts’ harness.  
  
Releasing the arrow, Legolas watched as it sailed through the air and struck the  
wooden contraption on the mumakil’s back that held so many of their soldiers who  
was raining death upon Ithilien with arrows. The one arrow did not spread as  
much as Legolas believed it would so the elf lord delivered another and then  
more, until he had used so many arrows that the fires burning on the harness was  
able to do nothing but spread. The mumakil’s panic was evident by the bellow it  
made upon discovering the proximity of this natural danger to itself. Swaying  
about widely, the beast attempted to shake of the burden on its back that was  
now billowing with smoke. It smashed through the opening it had created in a bid  
to douse the flames, it trunks flaying about in naked panic.  
  
“The rest of you!” Legolas ordered the other elves and archers capable of  
hearing him. “Follow my lead. Breath your arrows with flame and let it fly. If  
the enemy chooses to remain in this fortress with their beasts, then we will  
burn them down!”  
  
The mumakils that Legolas had set alight had completely brought down the gates  
and the doorway that held it. As soon as the beasts had cleared the fortress, it  
dropped to its knees and then rolled onto its back. The Eaasterlings who had not  
wisely chosen to jump off the creature’s back was crushed under its tremendous  
weight as it tried desperately to smother the flames consuming the offending  
harness. Their screams cut short with shocking finality. Legolas’ example soon  
had many of Ithilien’s archers, including the elves themselves, making the same  
assault upon the mumakils. Terrified that they would meet the same fate as the  
first the mumakils masters, prudently withdrew.  
  
Legolas was glad of this but the battle was not done, the beasts under the  
mastery of the Easterlings were still dangerous even if he had driven them out  
of the immediate vicinity. His use of fire had driven them out of the fortress  
but he was not about let any of the Easterlings ferried on their backs, survive.  
The beasts were not responsible for the actions of their masters and Legolas  
preferred not to harm them if he could avoid it. Issuing orders to a small  
portion of the elves riding at his side, Legolas sent them after the mumakils  
fleeing the threat of fire. None of the Easterlings were going to survive this  
day, not if he had anything to do with it.  
  
The elves arrival provided much needed spirit to the defenders of Emyn Arnen who  
launched themselves into battle with an unprecedented surge of determination.  
Despite the terrible destruction wrought by the mumakils and the fact that many  
of their people lay dead, they were determined to make the enemy pay for this  
insult. However if they thought their determination was fierce, then they were  
somewhat astonished by the frenzy by which the elves battled their enemy. The  
elves were thought to be a dwindling power in Middle earth and many of the  
warriors at Emyn Arnen had never even seen them until now. They carried images  
of a fair and graceful folk, compassionate and wise. It was quite sobering to  
find that the reality was quite different.  
  
The Easterlings were suffering the brunt of the elves’ fury. It seemed as if  
every elf who had opportunity to slaughter an Easterling did so with almost  
cruel relish. There was vengeance in their eyes though many defenders were  
uncertain what had caused such rage. It was rather frightening to see the elves  
sweeping through the enemy, armed with daggers, swords and bows like a scourge  
that might have been envisioned by Morgoth himself. Their attacks were almost  
frenzied and so violent that after a time, the warriors of Emyn Arnen began to  
see real fear in the eyes of the enemy.  
  
They appeared to prefer dying at the hands of men rather than elves. As the  
Easterling bodies began to pile, the warriors of Ithilien could well understand  
why.  
  
*************  
  
Danallar of Harad was beginning to see that he had made a fatal mistake.  
  
His gamble to keep the elves out of the conflict with the Reunified Kingdom had  
not only failed but had ignited the fires of fury he had never seen in the race  
before this. It had been three thousand years since the elves had gone to war  
and Danallar had hoped that the years of peace had inured the race to the desire  
for battle. Their departure from Middle earth seemed to indicate the truth in  
this belief. He had thought the attack upon Eden Ardhon would strengthen the  
elves resolve to depart Middle earth, not embark upon a path of violence that  
was starting to bear all the marks of a holy crusade.  
  
As he watched Legolas Greenleaf leading the elven army, inciting any elf in  
hearing distance to kill every Easterling in sight, he began to understand the  
full weight of his error. The elves would turn the tide and unlike Gondor and  
Rohan, would not stop when they were forced back to their own lands. It was  
entirely possible that they might pursue the Confederacy back to home soil. That  
possibility shook the leader of the war effort to the core for he had not  
anticipated this outcome. However, seeing the fury of the elves told Dallanar he  
could not take the chance. It was Legolas who was leading them, Legolas whose  
rage was the match that had set the others aflame.

It was Legolas he had to kill.  
  
***************  


When Legolas heard the enemy calling for retreat, he was almost disappointed.  
  
He had lost count of how many he had killed this day but was certain that if he  
chose to tally the number, he would have won his contest with Gimli a dozen  
times over. Yet despite the blood on his hands, his rage was far from abated.  
All he had to do to set his anger aflame once more was to think about his wife,  
the despair on her face after they had violated her and killed Anna in front of  
her. His anger surged through his veins with such intensity he could barely  
contain it. Across the Eastern Eye, Legolas could see the large number of enemy  
forces becoming large number of dead bodies and still it did not feel as if it  
was enough.  
  
The mumakils had been driven away from the fortress and now the beasts stood  
placidly at the foothill of Emyn Arnen now that their masters were killed. He  
saw the warriors of Emyn Arnen were now on the offensive, driving the enemy from  
their walls. They had fought a good battle, Legolas thought to himself, though  
he was somewhat concerned for he had not sighed Lady Eowyn since the elves  
arrived at the fortress. He offered a silent prayer to the Valar that she was  
safe. Across the length of the Eastern Eye, the enemy was departing in great  
numbers. Legolas led Arod to the ruined gate, preparing to issue an order to  
give pursuit when something tugged at the edge of his senses and forced him to  
turn.  
  
Someone slammed so hard into his body that the elf did not have time to utter a  
cry. The force of his attack was such that he was unseated from the saddle and  
landed heavily on the ground below. Arod snorted in dismay, unable to do  
anything but step back so as to avoid trampling his master. Legolas shook his  
head to rid himself of disorientation when suddenly, a boot slammed into his  
side breaking ribs with one swift kick. The elf let out a cry of pain but  
recovered in time to see a shape looming over him, a sword held in the air  
preparing to deliver a fatal blow.  
  
Legolas flipped upright and stepped back just as the blade came down on the  
space where he would have been. The elf unsheathed the daggers carried on his  
back for his sword had fallen out of his grip when this new enemy had waylaid  
him. Legolas stared for a moment at the tall Easterling warrior glaring at him.  
The elf recognised him immediately as the same opponent that Aragorn had battled  
at Lossarnach. Indeed the wound caused by Legolas’ arrow was still apparent upon  
the flesh of his arm. This was the leader of Easterling Confederacy.  
  
“You are their king,” Legolas stated.  
  
“I am their king,” the enemy answered.  
  
“We have business you and I,” Legolas said icily.  
  
“Indeed we do,” the tall man agreed. “I will kill you tonight.”  
  
“You may try,” Legolas answered.  
  
The call of retreat was still echoing throughout the fortress but the man did  
not move to escape the elf’s presence. Instead, he came at Legolas swinging. The  
elf lord dodged the effort easily and slashed at the enemy’s body with an almost  
casual swipe. The Easterling king hissed and spun around, his eyes narrowing for  
a more cunning attack.  
  
“I plan to honour those who took your wife,” he sneered, baring his white teeth  
against the dark flesh of his lips.

He regretted the words as soon as he had spoken them, he saw something in the  
elf’s eyes that made him shudder in fear. It was as if the storm had suddenly  
been given life from Legolas’ intense fury. It rose to the surface with shocking  
speed and before he could question what he was done, the elf lord was lunging at  
him.  
  
Legolas struck every blow the Easterling king offered barely noticing it. He  
moved with speed only another elf could match and continued repelling the  
enemy’s efforts to strike as if he were a child, fencing for the first time.  
Legolas was relentless in his attack, driving the man of Harad back with each  
contact of steel. He noticed nothing of the battle raging around him, his world  
shrinking into a circle inhabited by two beings, himself and the enemy. Legolas  
allowed the storm to sweep him away, relishing its power as it helped him to  
focus himself as he had never been before. His mind was so painfully clear, as  
was his vengeance. Blood was not enough.  
  
Blood was never going to be enough.  
  
When the king’s blade was finally ripped from his hands as he lay pinned against  
the wall, both of Legolas’ daggers against his skin, the elven lord’s fury  
seemed to simmer somewhat.  
  
“Go on!” The enemy hissed. “Kill me!”  
  
“It would make things simpler,” Legolas replied, wanting him to make no mistake  
that he was conflicted about this. “Take your head and the war ends with your  
blood spilling.”  
  
“Then do it,” the king glared at him. “Do it!”  
  
Legolas pushed the blade of one dagger harder against his throat, until the edge  
bit skin and caused the enemy to flinch. Legolas could hear his heart pounding  
in his chest, could smell the fear and defiance oozing off his skin and still,  
it was not enough to sate his hatred for this man and all he had done, not  
merely to the elves but to his friends throughout Middle earth.  
  
“No,” Legolas shook his head. “I will not kill you.”  
  
“Then you are not as strong as I thought,” the king hissed.  
  
“What is your name?” Legolas asked.  
  
“I did not give Gondor’s king my name, I will not give it to you.” He replied  
defiantly.  
  
“Very well,” Legolas answered and took a step back, his weapons lowering as he  
stared at Aragorn’s nemesis and the object of his deep hatred. “I will not kill  
you. You do not deserve to die just yet. You have violated my wife and my people  
because you dared to presume to know elves. In the days to come, I hope you will  
come to understand how much of an error you have made by that assumption. We  
have been awakened and now that we are awake, we will not stop until it is your  
city that burns, your people that are dead. Do you understand what you have  
unleashed upon your race?”  
  
The king did not speak because he did know but could not bear to answer.  
  
“We are coming for you and all who have stood by you,” Legolas replied. “The war  
is just beginning.”  
  
  
  



	11. Epilogue:  The Pauses In Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the failed treaty with Gondor, a new Haradirim leader has risen to lead the Easterling Alliance, armed a bold plan, an all out offensive against the Reunited Kingdom and its allies.As the once defeated armies of Sauron band together for a campaign that will see them take the lands of their enemies or die trying, Aragorn and the other leaders of the Middle earth prepare themselves for war.Unfortunately, as the conflict sweeps across Ithilien, Eden Ardhon and Gondor, Aragorn finds that that not all wars are fought on the battlefield but rather, at home where there is the most to lose.

  
Much had taken place by the time Faramir and Aragorn arrived at Ithilien.  
  
Following his encounter with the leader of the Easterling Confederacy, Legolas  
had released the enemy, relishing a little the fear in his eyes as the man fled  
his sight, burdened with knowledge that he had unleashed something terrible upon  
his people by his actions in Eden Ardhon. The call to retreat had seen the  
enemy and their mumakils fleeing towards the mountains of Ephel Duath, no doubt  
to begin the journey southwards. Legolas had no doubt in his mind that the enemy  
would be returning to their own lands following this battle. The leader of the  
Confederacy knew Legolas had made no idle threat and that the elves would march  
upon the lands of Rhun and Harad in good order.  
  
For the moment, however, Middle earth found itself in the eye of the storm that  
was elven rage. Once the enemy had retreated, the men of Ithilien could not  
deny that there was intensity to the Eldar’s anger that made them uneasy despite  
the elves aid in achieving this victory. Most had never seen elves and those who  
had been in their presence before had never seen the race so enraged. While it  
was gratifying to know that the elves could be just as prone to the darker  
emotions, it was also unnerving at the same time. Fortunately, this rage was  
reduced to a simmering heat once the battle was done and the character of the  
elven warriors took on a less intimidating air.  
  
Despite their victory against the enemy, the cost was still great. Many  
warriors of Ithilien lay dead, killed by the overwhelming numbers of the enemy  
prior to the elves’ arrival, or crushed underfoot of the rampaging mumakils. The  
fortress of the Eastern Eye had suffered considerable damage with the collapse  
of many of its walls. The victors, both men and elf, shifted through the debris  
and the rubble, seeking out the injured and the dead. The euphoria of victory  
had dwindled into the sombre mood of grief. Even the elves for all their rage,  
felt the sorrow for the dead of Ithilien as well as their own. There was to be  
no celebration until the dead were buried and mourned.  
  
Into this, did Aragorn and Faramir arrive a day later.  
  
As Legolas had asked, Aragorn led the elves of Eden Ardhon to Minas Tirith for  
their own safety. Aragorn was rather doubtful of Legolas’ ability to convince  
the intractable Thranduil that the elves should fight but he agreed with the  
prince that none of the elves of Eden Ardhon were safe in South Ithilien until  
the enemy was driven out of their territories. Upon seeing them safely to the  
White City, Aragorn and his company, which included all the warriors of Eden  
Ardhon, reached Imrahil who had been in charge of the greater portion of  
Gondor’s armies. Upon assuming command of his army, they marched to Emyn Arnen  
to await Legolas and to call another council of war. A message had been sent to  
Rohan, asking Eomer’s attendance for it appeared the situation required  
discussion since their enemies were far stronger than any of them envisioned.  
  
Aragorn could not begin to imagine what was running through the mind of Faramir,  
son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor when he arrived at Emyn Arnen and saw the  
Eastern Eye in near ruin. When the message had first reached them of the  
impending attack upon the fortress and the subsequent reports that told of  
another army approaching Emyn Arnen from the south instead of the north, they  
had feared the worst and rightly so. Realising that it was likely that the  
Haradrim army that had assailed Lossarnach was merging with the Easterlings who  
had sacked Eden Ardhon, both king and steward came to the conclusion that the  
defense of Ithilien could not possibly repel an army of that size.  
  
Faramir had remained sedate until the Eastern Eye had come into sight.  
In stark contrast to his brother Boromir, Aragorn had learned that Faramir  
preferred to think his way out of difficulty rather than fight. Like all men he  
was prone to bursts of temper, but these were rare. It was not Faramir’s way to  
rush in without thinking. It was a shame that Denethor had put such little stock  
in his second son because the truth of it, at least in Aragorn’s opinion, was  
that Faramir would have been far better suited to rule then his older brother.  
As Steward, he was invaluable to Aragorn because his was a meticulous mind,  
paying attention to every detail of a situation where Aragorn’s view was much  
broader. Together, they made a formidable team and Aragorn had come to regard  
him as greatly as he regarded Faramir’s dead brother.  
  
When the lord of Ithilien saw his realm in such a state of ruin, that calm  
deliberation had vanished to near panic and for someone like Faramir who had  
learned to control his emotions to hide from his father the pain of rejection,  
it quite something to see his deconstruction. Despite the timely arrival of the  
elves from Lorien and the Woodland Realm, Aragorn knew that Faramir feared the  
fate of not only his people but also his wife. As they walked past the bodies of  
the dead awaiting burial, the king of Gondor wondered how many times he would be  
forced to do this, to arrive with his friends to scenes of terrible tragedy.  
  
“Where is the Lady Eowyn?” Faramir demanded the moment he entered what passed  
for the royal court of Ithilien.  
  
Anticipating the first order of business for their lord upon his return, the  
summons was given to Tadgh, the chief physician in the house of healing. The man  
made his appearance before Aragorn’s efforts to calm him down fail quickly and  
Faramir went searching for Eowyn himself. Tadgh appeared worn and exhausted,  
his clothes covered with blood and grime, stark indication of how the healer had  
spent his days since the war had been brought to the Ithilien.  
  
“She is well my lord,” Tadgh said quickly, allaying the Steward’s worst fears.  
  
“Where is she?” Faramir asked again. “Why does she not come to meet me?”  
  
“She is resting,” Tadgh offered immediately.

”Was she injured?” Aragorn asked as he saw Faramir’s relief that Eowyn still  
lived.  
  
“Yes,” Tadgh nodded. “During the battle.”  
  
“She was fighting?” Gimli exclaimed  
  
“Did you think she would not?” Aragorn gave him a look.  
  
“It was the reason I asked her to remain here,” Faramir said softly. “I know how  
formidable she is in battle and I wanted her to remain here so that she could  
give hope to our people if difficult times came upon Ithilien in my absence. How  
badly was she hurt?” He looked up fearfully at Tadgh’s face, almost afraid to  
ask.  
  
“Her leg was broken and she took a nasty knock to the head but she survived well  
enough,” Tadgh was happy to report. “However, I prefer that she remain in her  
bed for a time. It is never wise to gamble with the lady’s health under these  
circumstances.”  
  
“What circumstances?” Faramir stared at him, the gratitude flooding into his  
body that Eowyn was not dead or grievously injured, stopped short with that  
seemingly curious statement.  
  
“She is with child,” Tadgh responded without hesitation and did not realise  
until the blank astonishment had crossed his lord’s face that he had spoken out  
of turn. “You did not know?”  
  
“With child?” Faramir stammered.  
  
“Yes,” the healer nodded. “Due in the summer I believe.”  
  
Faramir was at a loss for words and for a moment, he did not know what to say.  
Suddenly, the pieces felt together in place. Her strange behaviour prior to his  
leaving Ithilien, the reason why she agreed that it was not her place to fight  
or to travel. She had known! She had known then and not told him. He understood  
why of course and it was very much in keeping with her character for she was at  
the heart of her, a warrior and understood the danger of distractions.  
  
“Congratulations my boy!” Gimli slapped him on the back with that hearty wish.  
  
“This is good news Faramir,” Aragorn said with real pleasure for his friend  
because it proved life prevailed despite all the death surrounding them. This  
was news of great hope to all of them, particularly after the dark days they had  
seen of late. “I am happy for you.”  
  
“Thank you,” Faramir replied, still somewhat dazed by it all. He knew of only  
one remedy that could assuage his state of mind.  
  
He needed to see his wife.  
  
*************  
  
As anticipated, his lady was not at all happy to be confined to bed even for the  
sake of her health.  
  
Faramir paused at the doorway after entering their private chambers and saw  
Eowyn lying in her bed, attempting shift her broken foot into a position of  
comfort with the only thing that was close at hand; her sword. Leaning forward  
was apparently too much for her as she resorted this most unconventional method  
of moving her leg to a more comfortable position. Faramir watched her engaged in  
this activity for a moment, reluctant to give himself away because he wanted to  
simply look at her and bask in the pleasure at knowing that she lived and that  
she was carrying his child.  
  
“You know I am certain that was not the intended use of that weapon,” Faramir  
announced himself with a smile after she had dropped Anglachel on the floor with  
frustration.  
  
Eowyn looked up at him and broke in a radiant smile before answering in  
character, “well what am I to do when you are not here?”  
  
Faramir closed the distance between them and gently her shifted her broken leg  
so she would be more at ease. “Is that better?”  
  
“Much,” she answered and felt even better when he leaned over and met her lips  
with a gentle kiss. Husband and wife shared a moment of tender embrace and more  
passionate kisses before Faramir pulled away and Eowyn glowed with pleasure at  
seeing him.  
“You received our message?” She asked.  
  
“Yes,” he nodded as he circled the bed and nestled himself in the empty space  
beside her. “We rode here as quickly as possible but it appears we were not  
needed.”  
  
“You were needed,” Eowyn remarked resting her head against his shoulder, happy  
that he was with her again because it was when she was at her most vulnerable  
that she could truly appreciate how wonderful he was. “I needed you.”  
  
“I would ride through fire for you,” Faramir met her gaze, meaning it with  
earnest.  
  
“I know,” she sighed, her hand reaching for his face with affection. “I am glad  
you are here now for I wish to tell you something. I should have told you before  
you left to join our armies but I was afraid that it would make it so much  
harder for you leave. I was wrong in that and I am sorry.”  
  
“Eowyn,” Faramir took her hand from his cheek and squeezed it gently in his own.  
“Tadgh told me. You are with child.”  
  
“Yes,” she nodded, wishing that she could have told him herself but it no longer  
mattered as long as he knew. “I did not wish to keep you from doing what was  
necessary. I feared that you would worry leaving me if you knew. I am sorry my  
love, it was not my intention to hide from you the truth.”  
  
“I will worry about you Eowyn,” Faramir answered firmly, grateful for her  
consideration though he would have preferred the benefit of the doubt. Still,  
she thought very much like a woman in such matters, even if she could fight as  
well as any man. “As long as I live, I will worry about you because I love you.  
Whether or not I stay here in Ithilien at your side until the end of our days or  
journey across the world that will not change. However my concern for you does  
not alter my responsibilities to my king or to my country. I will gladly fight  
any battle because I know what I fight for will ensure that our child will never  
know war. For that I would go anywhere and fight anyone. You need not worry  
about such news distracting me. How can it be when I know that distraction will  
only keep me from making this world a better place our child?”  
  
“Our son,” Eowyn declared with surprising certainty.  
  
“It matters little to me if it is a boy or a girl,” he shrugged and surprised  
himself by meaning it. He was not Denethor “I will love it all the same.”  
  
“It is a boy,” she repeated herself, her eyes dancing with absolute confidence  
in her belief. “I am certain of it.”  
  
“How?” He regarded with one brow cocked.  
  
“A woman knows these things,” she said smugly, amusing herself with the fact  
that her response would frustrate him to no end.  
  
“That is not an answer,” he insisted with a frown, aware that she was teasing  
him. This was not a new debate. “Men never say such things. We do not presume to  
know without proof how things can be.”  
  
“Well is it not obvious why?” Eowyn stared at him impatiently, her lips curling  
into a little smile.  
  
“No,” he snorted, giving her a look. “It is not.”  
  
“You are not women,” she quipped as if it were the most logical thing in the  
world.  
  
Faramir rolled his eyes and cried defeat. There were times when it was far  
easier battling the enemy than attempting to understand his wife.  
  
*************  
  
Eomer was hardly surprised when the message reached him at the Golden Hall of  
Meduseld.  
  
In truth, he had been expecting it ever since he learnt of the attack upon Eden  
Ardhon. Since the beginning of hostilities at Lebethron, it was clear that none  
of the leaders of the Ruling Council of Middle earth knew what they faced. On  
each front, they had been taken by surprise and attacked in large numbers. It  
was a sad fact but true, that the past weeks had shown them quite clearly that  
the enemy far more organised than they had managed to be. Their victory against  
Sauron had made them over confident and as a result, their people had paid the  
price for their mistake. They needed to determine a plan of attack or a darkness  
equal to Sauron’s plans for Middle earth may take place after all.  
  
If the request for an attendance to a council meeting did not surprise Eomer,  
then the appearance of Imrahil at his court to deliver it, certainly was. The  
Prince of Dol Amroth had taken the opportunity to ride to Rohan in order to see  
for himself, the welfare of his daughter while the armies of Gondor led by  
Aragorn, continued their journey to Ithilien. Imrahil and Eomer had become  
friends during the War of the Ring. Eomer had ridden at Theoden’s side when the  
Rohirrim rode to Gondor. Though very different from Theoden, Imrahil had proved  
himself to be a man of honour and their friendship had strengthened through the  
passage of years.  
  
Admittedly, Eomer was rather glad to see Imrahil in the Golden Hall because the  
presence of her father would certainly brighten Lothiriel spirits. Since the  
attack upon Edoras and the incident in the catacombs when Lothiriel had used her  
magic to protect the women and children hiding in the caves during the battle,  
the lady of Dol Amroth had been greatly trouble. Eomer sensed it had to do with  
the having to see the faces of the men she had sent to death. She had used her  
powers earlier that day to escape the Dunlendings in order to reach Edoras to  
raise the alarm. Then she had been so afraid, that her eyes had been closed  
tightly so that she would see nothing except the evidence of her sorcery when  
the danger was passed.  
  
It was quite something else to see them die, to see the life drain out of them.  
To know that everything they would ever in this world or to the ones they loved,  
was extinguished in an instant and then to remember that she was responsible,  
that she had been the reason for the diminishing light in their eyes. Eomer  
understood Lothiriel’s anguish far better than she could have possibly imagined.  
He was a warrior born, it was all that he had ever known but the first time he  
had killed had changed him forever. If it were one of his men, he would have  
told them that it was simply the nature of things, a blooding ritual required of  
every soldier throughout the ages. He did not know how to say the same things to  
Lothiriel and it broke his heart that he was unable because he could see her  
pain and it stabbed at him like a knife.  
  
“I am glad that you are here Prince of Dol Amroth,” Eomer said as he accompanied  
Imrahil to the garden where Lothiriel could be found, once the greetings were  
done. “Your daughter needs you.”  
  
“Why?” Imrahil stared at him, a silvery dark brow cocked up in question and  
suspicion. Imrahil had not been completely comfortable with his daughter  
remaining in Edoras despite his pleasure that Lothiriel and Eomer genuinely  
cared for each other. It was not proper and in all truth, he had more than  
sufficient grounds to demand Eomer marry his daughter after her unchaperoned  
stay in the Golden Hall.  
  
“During the attack upon Edoras by the Dunlending curs,” Eomer began with more  
venom then he intended. “The women and children were taken to the catacombs  
below the city to wait in safety. Your daughter went with them and acquitted  
herself as well as any Lady of Edoras. You would have been so proud of her  
Imrahil, she kept her head and ensured no one lost hope.”  
  
“She has always had strength,” Imrahil said warmly. He loved his only daughter  
deeply in spite of her eccentricities. “It exists within her as more than just  
her magic but in her character as well. She is determined and brave.”  
  
“Qualities which she proved most adeptly when the Dunlendings found the  
sanctuary and broke through,” Eomer declared.  
  
“Is she alright?” Imrahil asked with natural alarm, the atrocities at Eden  
Ardhon too fresh in his mind to allow him to take such news calmly.  
  
“She is fine,” Eomer said quickly, assuaging Imrahil’s fears. “They however, are  
not. Imrahil, she used her magic and saved all of those in hiding with her. We  
found them buried alive in the ground, as if they had been drowned in sand. I  
believe Lothiriel saw them die as her spell unfolded. She does not seemed to  
have suffered physical injury but her soul carries their deaths heavily.”  
  
Imrahil drew in a breath and uttered a short, sardonic laugh devoid of humour.  
“This discussion in one I expect to have with my sons, not my daughter.”  
  
“She did what was necessary,” Eomer said in Lothiriel’s defense though he need  
not have worried. “If she had not, none of the women and children would have  
survived.”  
  
“We both know that the intention behind the taking a life, no matter how right  
the cause does not ease the conscience of those who are called upon to commit  
the act,” Imrahil answered softly. “When my sons rode into combat for the first  
time, I explained to them the way of things as I expect you do to the men under  
your command.”  
  
“Yes,” Eomer nodded. “If I could tell her the way I tell them it would be simple  
because we are Rohirrim, we live and we die for the survival of our people. I do  
not know how to console Lothiriel in this. I love her Imrahil and it pains me to  
see her so grieved. The Dunlendings she killed would not feel this same remorse  
in her place, if they even deign to think of it at all.”  
  
“Then I will speak to her,” Imrahil smiled, squeezing Eomer’s shoulder in  
affection.  
  
“There is one other thing,” Eomer spoke up because there was little time to  
waste and because they would soon be riding for Ithilien.  
  
“Yes?” The Prince of Dol Amroth regarded the King of the Mark.  
  
“You and I must leave for Ithilien as soon as possible in order to attend the  
meeting of the council,” Eomer spoke as if his next words were finding  
difficulty leaving his throat but it had to be said. “When I leave the Golden  
Hall, I would like to leave it in the hands of my queen. Lothiriel has earned  
the right to be my queen and she was far more certain of our love then I. I wish  
to marry your daughter before we depart Edoras.”  
  
Imrahil absorbed Eomer’s request and knew that the young king was quite smitten  
by his daughter and there was no doubt as to his affection for her. With the  
times so uncertain, it was understandable that Eomer would desire the joining  
with Lothiriel sooner rather than later. It pleased Imrahil to no end because he  
had thought up the match to begin with but he would commit his child to nothing  
until he had spoken to her. If Eomer was right and his Lothiriel was in pain,  
then that was the first order of business for the Prince of Dol Amroth.  
  
“You have my consent to marry her Eomer and my blessing,” his future father in  
law smiled. “Now let me see my daughter.”  
  
*************  
  
Eomer had been correct that Imrahil’s presence would be the tonic needed to lift  
Lothiriel’s spirits. Upon seeing him, the young lady of Dol Amroth ran quickly  
into her father’s embrace, almost overjoyed at his arrival. The past few days  
had left her in a deep state of melancholy that no amount of comforting words by  
Eomer could assuage. Although she knew what she had done was necessary,  
Lothiriel could not forget the image of those men as they died. It had burned  
itself into her memory like a branding iron and despite her reluctance to admit  
it; she knew she would never be the same again.  
  
Imrahil could see immediately that Eomer was right in his assertion that  
Lothiriel was marked by her actions in the catacombs. In truth, he was rather  
proud of her and growing more so of late because she had proven him wrong that  
she would never be able to be a magician of any note. Her resourcefulness had  
saved the kingdom from the shape shifter threat, which would have proved to be  
an even greater menace to the people of Middle earth, than the war they were  
presently fighting. However, despite all her progress these recent months,  
Lothiriel still came from a sheltered upbringing, one that never meant for her  
to single-handedly vanquish a number of rabid tribesmen braying for blood.

”It is so good to see you father,” Lothiriel said with genuine pleasure, the  
first she had felt in some time.  
  
“When I learnt that the king desired a meeting between all the members of the  
ruling council, I took the opportunity to play messenger so that I may visit you  
here and see how my daughter fares,” Imrahil answered as they both sat on a  
stone seat in the gardens she liked so well. It had suffered a little damage  
during the battle but it still provided her with enough beauty to make her  
troubles seem very far away indeed.  
  
“I fare well,” she lied and was certain he knew it but it was a conditioned  
response.  
  
“The king tells me you saved a good number of his people,” Imrahil remarked,  
wishing to draw out the truth about what had happened from her. It would help  
immensely if she revealed her feelings on what she had done.  
  
“I did so by taking a good many lives,” Lothiriel replied turning away, unable  
to look at him because she was so ashamed.  
  
“Child,” Imrahil placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and commanded firmly in a  
voice she could not disobey, “look at me.”  
  
Lothiriel faced him with glistening eyes.  
  
Imrahil let out a deep breath and wiped the moisture from her eyes with one  
fingertip, “I do not know how to bandy about words that will make this any  
better for you. There is no consolation to the heart when one has taken a life.  
It marks you inside, no matter how much you wished it did not. I will say to you  
the same thing that I have said to both your brothers when they have been forced  
to ride into combat. In war, people die. Those are the rules we must abide. We  
cannot change them because it is the way of things. War is not meant to be  
chivalry and glory. It is a dirty, ugly business that leaves the mark of blood  
upon your hands for all time. Yet if you spilled that blood in good conscience,  
in full awareness that there was no other recourse, then you have nothing to be  
ashamed of.”  
  
“Oh father!” Lothiriel cried out, her fragile emotional state crumbling  
instantly. “I cannot forget their eyes as they died, knowing that they were  
going to die, because of me! How can I bear this weight upon my soul? I know  
they would not have mourned me if it were me in their place but it make little  
difference to how I feel.”  
  
“Lothiriel,” her father took her hands in his and met her gaze, “you must learn  
to live with it. There is no remedy, not in words or magic that can make this  
expedient. It is simply is as I have spoken. You will learn to live with it, as  
many of us who have killed in our lifetimes have learnt, because we must. Your  
life will continue and in time, the pain will lessen. You have the love of your  
family, a king who is most eager to marry you and your magic.”  
  
“No,” she shook her head, “not my magic. I will never use it again.”  
  
Imrahil wondered if she ought to dissuade her but decided to remain silent for  
the moment. Time was a healer and he suspected once her heart was not so ravaged  
by what had taken place, she would think differently. “That is your choice but  
for now, you have greater concerns to consider.”  
  
“Greater concerns?” Lothiriel wiped her eyes, accepting what her father had said  
because he was the one source, which she found more irrefutable than all others.  
When he had chosen Eomer to her husband, Lothiriel learnt how much his father  
knew her because his selection had been made to further her happiness, not to  
sell her into slavery as she had originally believed. If she said that she would  
survive this, then she would believe him. Imrahil may have been angry and  
sometimes harsh because of her behaviour, but he had never lied to her about  
anything.  
  
“Yes,” Imrahil nodded, certain she had not really heard when he had spoken about  
Eomer’s desire to marry her. “Eomer will be riding to Ithilien with me as soon  
as possible. It is important that we decide what course we are to take to combat  
the enemy. The King of the Mark wishes to leave Edoras in the hands of its  
queen when he departs. He wants to marry you and I have consented.”  
  
Lothiriel eyes widened, “he said he wanted to wait…”  
  
“Perhaps once,” Imrahil said with a smile because the idea of marrying her king  
did not displease Lothiriel and had lit up her eyes with something other than  
grief. “I think you have proved yourself worthy of his people and he loves you,  
it shines from his eyes when he speaks of you.”

”I love him,” Lothiriel answered without hesitation.  
  
“Well then, it is settled,” Imrahil grinned, “it appears we have a wedding to  
attend today.”  
  
And so it came to pass that Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was wed finally to King  
Eomer of Rohan before the court of Edoras, with her father, the Lord of Dol  
Amroth in attendance. Though Eomer would have preferred to gather all his  
friends across Middle earth for the ceremony, expediency required him to  
proceed. He promised himself that once this war was done, he and his queen would  
celebrate their union with more fanfare. As it was, the people of Edoras who  
knew that this was union of love, not merely of political convenience, were  
terribly pleased for their beloved king and attended the ceremony even it if  
lacked the fanfare of grandeur.  
  
It was simply enough that in the midst of some much destruction, there was life.

  
Lothiriel and Eomer shared one night together as husband and wife, discovering  
secret pleasures in each other that only deepened the bond between them. He was  
gentle and patient with her, making the experience of the body a wonderful  
experience she would keep with her until they were able to share another night  
together again. When he rode away to Ithilien the next morning, there were no  
tearful farewells, just a passionate kiss and promise to take care while they  
were apart. Lothiriel stood before the Golden Hall and watched as her king rode  
into the distance, knowing that time not only healed all wounds but would also  
bring him back to her.  
  
*************  
  
For the first time since this conflict had been thrust upon them, the leaders of  
Middle earth found themselves gathered in each other’s company once again. As  
they converged within the meeting hall of Faramir’s fortress, the effect of the  
war was evident upon all them. Personal defeats marked their countenance; from  
the very slight to grievous wounds no amount of time could heal. In better days,  
they were more than just allies, they were friends but as they sat around the  
table in the great hall, devoid of any other presence, they faced each other as  
leaders of their own realms. For the moment, friendships could wait because war  
had come to Middle earth and allies had more weight in such times.  
  
Aragorn swept his gaze across his friends despite the serious atmosphere in the  
room and found his concern largely centred around Legolas. He and the elf had  
been friends for the better part of sixty years and it was the first time  
Aragorn had ever seen this side of him. To say that it was unnerving was to put  
it mildly and it appeared that Legolas’ outrage at what had happened at Eden  
Ardhon had only served to stoke the rest of the elves into a similar state of  
fury. When he had arrived with Faramir at Emyn Arnen and seen the results of  
the elves surprising entry into the war, he had been astonished by the savagery  
that had seen half the Easterling army lying dead on the battlefield.  
  
Of course he knew they had it in them to be so blood thirsty. The elves had  
warred longer than any other race in Middle earth and though it might appear  
that they were a peaceful, tranquil people, it was never wise to assume too  
much. When properly inspired or provoked, their fury burned brighter than  
Yavanna’s light in the sky. Only a day ago, Gwaihir, the Windlord had delivered  
to Aragorn a message from Elladan and Elrohir at Imlardis. While they did not  
desire to leave their father’s city for such an extended period of time, they  
were willing to commit troops in the defence of Rohan since Eomer’s Rohirrim  
cavalry would almost certainly be needed on the front lines.  
  
Haldir sat at the table next to Legolas, representing Lord Celeborn in this  
council. It was the first time Celeborn had deigned to take part in matters of  
men since his departure from Lothlorien. However, the real surprise was  
Thranduil. The Woodland King had a reputation for being uninterested in any  
matters beyond the Woodland Realm. That he had provided his son with an army  
would almost be unbelievable if not for the thousands of Easterlings corpses in  
the process of burning in a funeral pyre beyond the fortress walls.  
  
“Well let’s get on with it,” Gimli rumbled, never able to sit in place too long  
in silence. The sombre faces around the dwarf were making the situation even  
more intolerable for the dwarf who decided to take it upon himself to prompt the  
proceedings forward. “We have a great deal to discuss.”  
  
“Well said Master Gimli,” Aragorn replied, deciding that he was right. They had  
been caught unawares by everything until now and that they had not managed to  
lose any territory was mere good luck, nothing else. Luck, Aragorn found, was  
seldom an eternal spring and would eventually run dry. “The Rangers have sighted  
the army of the enemy retreating southwards. They may be returning home.”  
  
“After their loses here, it would not be unsurprising,” Faramir agreed,  
remembering the scenes of carnage as well. However, he did not feel any sense of  
compassion for the enemy that had been killed, not when Eowyn and their unborn  
child had barely managed to survive the engagement. “The question is do we let  
them go or do we follow them?”  
  
“We follow them,” Legolas said firmly and not unexpectedly. “We follow them all  
the way to their cities and burn it down around their ears.”  
  
“We could do that but I am not entirely certain that is wise,” Aragorn replied.  
  
“I do not see why not,” Legolas shot him a look. “They have plagued these lands  
for as long as can be remembered, even before this. First, yoked to Morgoth’s  
harness and then to Sauron. This is only the latest incursion and it will not be  
the last unless we put a stop to it.”  
  
The intensity of his words made it difficult for anyone to refute him and  
Aragorn could see that even Haldir was somewhat taken back by the venom in  
Legolas’ manner.  
  
“I must agree with Lord Legolas in this,” Eomer found himself saying. “Rohan is  
drenched with blood because the enemy had incited the Dunlendings and the  
goblins of Moria to become involved in this conflict. Leaderless, they were  
nothing but rabble, having little desire to stray beyond their territories. Now  
they have spread to the White Mountains in Rohan and dare to attack Edoras. No,”  
Eomer shook his head. “This cannot be allowed to continue. The Confederacy must  
be broken or else we will never know anything more than an intermittent peace.”

Imrahil could see his king’s discomfort at the concept of leading all of Middle  
earth to war and attempted to speak in a more conciliatory tone. He too agreed  
with what was being said. With the exception of the elves, Imrahil had  
experienced more Easterling aggression than anyone present. For years, the  
enemy both with and without Sauron’s endorsement had plagued Gondor.  
  
“Sire,” he turned his gaze to the king. “For as long as we can remember, the  
Haradrim and the Easterlings had constantly waged war against Gondor. Whether it  
was at the insistence of Sauron or through their own auspices, they have made it  
clear that there will never be a peace so long as they are allowed to govern  
themselves. We have never pursued them back into their lands, we have never been  
strong enough. Not for many ages have we been allied together as strongly as we  
are now, we will neve have another opportunity and I fear if we do not take it,  
they will simply lick their wounds and return when their numbers have risen  
again.”  
  
“I know,” Aragorn offered Imrahil a grateful smile. He knew all these things but  
he was not a warring man by nature and an offensive campaign was not a course he  
was comfortable with, no matter what the justification. “I have long attempted  
to avert this very situation from becoming a reality but I must concede that all  
your arguments have good weight and that they will never cease their attacks  
upon our lands unless we put a stop to it in theirs. Their leader has united  
them and has conspired with others in our lands to war against us in order to  
weaken our defences. We must show them the consequences of their actions.”  
  
Aragorn paused a moment, drawing his breath because he had spent a great deal of  
time considering how they would proceed once this inevitable decision was made.  
“We will leave one third of our forces behind to bolster the defences of our  
cities. Master Gimli, are your people agreeable to aid Rohan and harbour some  
of the its people in case of an attack?”  
  
“Most certainly,” Gimli replied boisterously. “There is plenty of room in  
Aglarond and if we have to, we can certainly repair the damage at the Hornburg  
and return it to its former strength.”  
  
“Rohan thanks you,” Eomer said to him warmly.  
  
“In addition,” Aragorn added. “Imlardis will despatch what warriors it can to  
defend your realm should the Dunlendings and the goblins attempt to attack  
Edoras again. That will leave the Westfold protected while the armies remaining  
here will protect Ithilien and Gondor. Faramir, it would be wise if you sent  
Eowyn to Minas Tirith as soon as she is fit to travel. Your women and children  
should move further away from the border. I do not think the enemy will attempt  
to attack once they learn that we are marching towards their lands but it is a  
wise precaution nevertheless.”  
  
“It will be done,” Faramir nodded in agreement with all of Aragorn’s orders,  
particularly the suggestion that Eowyn should be sent to the White City. He knew  
she would protest this but he would have her there even if he were forced to  
send her there across the back of a horse, bound and gagged.  
  
“The question now remains, in which direction do we go?” Aragorn eased back into  
his chair, waiting for the council to comment.  
  
“We go to Harad,” Legolas declared without hesitation.  
  
His response was unexpected for they were all certain that he would have  
preferred to pursue the Easterlings into their homeland in vengeance for what  
they had done to Melia and the elves of Eden Ardhon. Legolas was well aware of  
all eyes upon him and supposed that they could not be blamed for their surprise.  
After all, his actions of late had done nothing to disprove their belief that  
the elves were waging a very different kind even if they were allies in this  
conflict. However, Legolas’ desire for justice did not blind him to the fact  
that it was war they were fighting and their strategy had to be based on  
expediency not emotion.  
  
“You were right,” Legolas explained himself as his eyes met Aragorn’s. “Their  
leader is among the Haradrim. If we can defeat them, we will show our enemies at  
home that their allies in the south are not as strong as they believed and it  
would be wise to desist in any further provocative action. The Easterlings look  
to Harad for their instructions, without it they are leaderless and divided. We  
can deal with them at a later time. I say that it is at Harad that we first  
strike.”  
  
“He makes a good point,” Gimli remarked in agreement. “We should cut off the  
beast’s head and watch the rest of it flounder.”  
  
“Are we in agreement of this?” Aragorn stared at the face around him and saw  
grim approval in their eyes. What lay before them was a campaign that would  
take them into unfamiliar territory and separate them from their loved ones for  
many months, if not years. However, it had to be done. Too much blood had been  
split, to many lives left in ruin because of the enemy’s refusal to believe that  
peaceful coexistence was possible.  
  
“Yes,” came a chorus of unanimous replies, leaving no question about the course  
they were agreeing to take.  
  
For so long Aragorn had tried to avert this. Since becoming king, Aragorn had  
sought to reconcile the races of men and mend the wounds that had kept them at  
war for so many years. He had made gestures and attempts at goodwill and the  
outcome of all that effort was to have the Confederacy raising enemies on the  
borders of everyone of his allies. Innocents had been murdered and people close  
to his heart had been brutalized and hurt. No more.  
  
There was a time for peace and time to fight. They were beyond even that now.  
  
Legolas was right in what he had told the Haradrim king. They were coming and  
nothing was going to stop them.  
  
The enemy had wanted war, what it would receive would be annihilation.  
  
THE END FOR NOW.  



End file.
